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THE LIFE OF A STAR 



THE 
LIFE OF A STAR 



BY 



CLARA KlORRIS 

AUTHOR OF 
LIFE ON THE STAGE 




NEW YORK 

McCLURE, PHILLIPS & CO. 

MCMVI 



LIBRARY of OONGRESS 
Two CoDies Received 

WAY 9 1906 

Copyright Entry . 

1**C 

CLASS^tf™ XXc. No, 
PY r B. ** 







Copyright, lpo6, by 
McClure, Phillips & Co. 



Published May, igo6 



Copyright, 1905, by International Magazine Company 
Copyright, 1905, by The Curtis Publishing Company 
Copyright, 1904-1905, by The New York Herald Company 
Copyright, 1902-1903-1904-1905, by The S. S. McClure Company 
Copyright, 1903-1904, by Cosmopolitan Publishing Company 



4 

TO STARS 

those sister women who tasted sorrow and 
defeat before they won success, I dedi- 
cate these memories with a clasp of 
the hand, and the hope that they may 
reign long and happily, 
CLARA MORRIS 



PREFACE 

To all those who were kindly patient readers of that 
first book, " Life on the Stage," greeting — sincere 
and grateful greeting. 

Since then I have at least learned enough of the 
great profession of letters to be afraid. That first 
book was calmly offered out of the boundless courage 
of perfect ignorance — this one is held out to you in 
a hand unsteadied by a tumultuous and most anxious 
heart. 

Feeling that interest in my personal story must 
have ended with girlhood's successful struggle for 
air and light and an equal chance with others, it 
seemed best, after noting my marriage, about which 
some of the gentlest critics thought I showed " a 
curious reserve," to devote most of my space to mem- 
ories of people, more likely to prove interesting to 
the world at large. 

That these memories are such mere " shreds and 
patches " is the fault of a star's manner of life. 
Never does she pass more than two weeks in a city — 
oftener but one; thus a meeting, a greeting, and a part- 
ing about describes her existence. And the conse- 
quence, in this instance, is a book that suggests one 
of those small kaleidoscopes, dear to our childhood, 



Vlll 



PREFACE 



wherein those short sketches of mine become the bits 
of coloured glass — green for hope, blue for faith, red 
for courage, purple for power — and in placing it in 
your hands, I can only hope that, aided by your good 
will and imagination, the many coloured bits may slip 
into patterns and images that are pleasing to the eye 
without being wholly an optical illusion. 



CONTENTS 

PAGE 

I. An Actress on Guard 3 

II. I Am Married 21 

III. I Stand between Lady Macbeth and 

Matrimony 37 

IV. The Moxa 55 

V. Riddle of the Nineteenth Century: 

Mr. Henry Bergh 69 

VI. Sarah Siddons's Tryst 93 

VII. Garfield 103 

VIII. The Shadow of the Temple . . . . 115 

IX. Brilliant Failures 136 

X. A Crucial Moment ...... 146 

XI. Rachel 168 

XII. The Mormon Banquo 191 

XIII. Major McKinley — A Memory . . . 204 

XIV. A Convert to the Play 218 

XV. A Chip of the Old Confederacy: 

Jubal A. Early 233 

XVI. A Hunt for a Play 253 

XVII. Some Reminiscences of L. Q. C. Lamar 278 

XVIII. Looking Backward 295 

XIX. Alessandro Salvini 308 

XX. From Sand-Dune to Mountain-Top . 329 

XXI. A Memory of Dion Boucicault . . 352 

ix 



THE LIFE OF A STAR 



AN ACTRESS ON GUARD 

WHEN a young actress struggling for the 
highest place attains it; when she has 
made a great and sudden success in a 
part, and the play is settling into its stride for a long 
run, people suppose her position is settled and secure 
for years to come. They imagine her triumphant, 
free from care or anxiety of any kind, sinking to rest, 
wrapped, as it were, in clouds of glory, only to arise 
to delicate feeding and deep draughts from cups of 
praise; for, you see, she has made a great hit; the 
struggle is past and she has nothing now to fear, they 
think. And right here I should like to carol a few 
light notes of incredulity — tra-la-la! Because in one 
case, at least, it was all so different; and I know, oh, 
yes, I know quite well — for see now, there were two 
special nights, and on one, at eight o'clock, a girl, 
wide-eyed, poorly dressed, just out of the great West, 
and absolutely without one friend in it, faced New 
York City in chill terror. The next night, at eight 
o'clock, the same girl faced pleased recognition in a 
myriad of beaming eyes; a forest of outstretched 
hands and a sea-like roar of welcome that shook her 
to the heart. I know, because I was that girl. 

Well, that was success — unadulterated, amazing 
success; and for a little time I rested upon it, con- 
tent, happy, and very grateful — but not dazzled, not 



4 THE LIFE OF A STAR 

caught up in golden clouds, not overpowered as by a 
miracle. And I noticed the odd looks that were 
turned upon me after curtain calls, overheard com- 
ments as to the " easiness " with which I took this 
success, and as to my awful lack of appreciation, cold 
bloodedness, etc. And while they wondered at me, 
so I wondered at them ; for in my verdant young ig- 
norance this was my true thought : Why do they make 
such a to-do over this? I acted in Cleveland and in 
Cincinnati, and did my best, and people cried and 
gave me calls; and here I have a good part, and do 
my best, and the people forgive the burr in my speech, 
and cry, and applaud. What's the difference? I see 
nothing so wonderful ! Oh, dear heaven ! Oh, loyal 
and woolly little Westerner! Yet that was my true 
thought. 

Then one day one high in the journalistic world 
sent me an enormous number of papers from far and 
wide, from Canada to Florida, from east to west, 
and lo ! each and every one of them had reprinted at 
a column's length, each of the New York papers' ex- 
pressed opinion of the Western actress's debut in the 
metropolis. Many had editorial comment as well, 
and then, indeed, my calm was shaken. A great awe 
crept over me. Well I knew I was of no interest to 
all the readers these papers represented. It was New 
York, the great, the powerful, the nerve-centre of 
this whole broad land, and New York's opinion, that 
interested the entire country. Had the metropolis 
gibed at me, contemptuous laughter at my ludicrous 
presumption would have run north, south, and west 



AN ACTRESS ON GUARD 5 

like the crackling of thorns in the fire. My knees 
trembled at the thought. My simple trust in my own 
honest best was gone. All my careful study in trying 
to make one scene seem the logical outcome of an- 
other seemed wasted. I had suddenly been lifted high 
into popularity by the whim of the first city in the 
land — powerful, brilliant, changeable. Ah, there was 
the rub — changeable! I had sprung up in a single 
night. What had happened once might easily happen 
again. I knew no more of security. From that mo- 
ment I began to peer into the future, watching for 
the woman there just out of sight who waited for 
my shoes; and I straightway resolved never to be 
dragged down from the high place that had been 
given me, but at the first sign of frown or weariness 
to descend at once, without tear or remonstrance, 
showing only gratitude for what had been. And there 
and then began that interminable chain of prayers 
with which I weaned heaven, that I might be pre- 
pared; that when my successor came I might feel no 
resentment, no bitterness, no rancour. And to show 
how near this came to being a fixed idea with me, — 
as for the first time in my life I had weeks without 
rehearsals, — I at once took up certain studies, under 
teachers, that when my place was taken by another, 
widened and varied interests might lessen the chance 
of heartbreak. Having then got around to the view- 
point of the ladies of the company, I tried to show 
them my new appreciation of the marvel of my suc- 
cess, here in their city, and they seemed much grati- 
fied. One evening, as we waited in the greenroom, 



6 THE LIFE OF A STAR 

the conversation turned upon the many prominent 
actors and actresses New York had — to use the green- 
room vocabulary — " sat down upon." Someone 
named Eliza Logan, who had been held as one of 
the greatest actresses of her time, but her disastrous 
appearance here, at her husband's theatre, was said to 
have broken her heart. 

" Ah, but she was so ugly to look at! " said one of 
the older ladies. " Something very near genius, but, 
Lord, how ugly ! " 

" Well," I said, " there was Miss Julia Dean," 
and was roughly interrupted by the one person in the 
company who was systematically unkind to me with : 
" You know nothing of Julia Dean ! " 

" Of course I do not know her personally," I an- 
swered, " but through Mr. Jefferson, Mr. Ellsler 
and Mr. Owens I have heard of her delicate, fair 
beauty." 

" She was the loveliest woman on the face of 
God's earth ! " came in aggressive second interrup- 
tion. 

And then a calm, slow voice from the far end of 
the room was saying: " It's your careful moderation 
of speech, old man, that always appeals to my 
Bostonian training. A tender reticence in these 

days " and the rest was drowned in general 

laughter. 

" But could she act, your beautiful Julia Dean? " 
called out the deer-eyed Dietz. 

And in chorus came: " No! "— " No! "— " A 
little!"— " Not a bit!" While my " Oh, yes she 



AN ACTRESS ON GUARD 7 

could ! " tumbling out the last of all, I went on : " Of 
course, her beauty counted highest in her success else- 
where, and the goodness that people say seemed to 
emanate from her like perfume from a flower. And 
she could act, too, with grace and dignity and sweet- 
ness such parts as Julia and Parthenia and the younger 
Shakespearean heroines! But," I sighed. ("But?" 
came back the chorus with every head ashake.) 
" But it's queer," I continued, " Miss Logan had 
genius, and she was rejected. Miss Dean had beauty, 
and she, too, was rejected. It's hard to guess what 
New York wanted ! " 

" Oh, no ; that's easy ! " cried my foe, and with a 
bitter sneer added, " She was waiting for you, my 
dear!" 

I laughed quickly to hide my hurt, and answered: 
11 Ah, yes ! I see. You mean that, having neither 
beauty nor genius, I stand between the two, a living 
fountain of regretful tears, and as such arouse the 
attention even of New York? " 

As everyone knew mine had been a success of 
tears, a shout of laughter broke forth that was like 
balm to my hurt. The thrust had been meant to 
wound, and I want to say for myself that if, as peo- 
ple used laughingly to declare, I, like some others, 
went through life with a rapier of mockery ever in 
hand, at least I never failed to keep the saving button 
of good nature firmly attached and made no thrust 
with a naked point. 

The season was getting on to its last quarter. I 
was still safe, but one day, as I swept the horizon with 



8 THE LIFE OF A STAR 

the great glass of anticipation, I believed my rival 
had come into view. 

She hailed from England, and I closed my eyes as 
I thought how great must be her ability and value to 
be thus sent for across the ocean. I heard that she 
was blond — artificial or natural deponent saith not, 
— and verily I bowed my head, for unseen blonds are 
always fascinating. 

Now, my prayers had gone steadily on all this 
time, and though their sincerity was beyond doubt, 
there had been a somewhat marked compactness and 
brevity about them until the golden-haired dramatic 
wonder had set sail to conquer New York and thrust 
her rosy toes into my shoes, when they suffered a 
sudden expansion of explanations, of entreaties, of 
promises, of iterations that might well have won for 
me a thump on the head from an aerolite ; and while 
I was still desperately preparing for the worst, she 
came. 

The bills were up. Mr. Daly read advance notices, 
and summoned the French prompter. A French 
prompter for an English-speaking company was one 
of Mr. Daly's unappreciated jests, for if any actor 
" stuck for the word " he stayed stuck till the curtain 
fell, or the season closed, or he died, or something, 
because the French prompter couldn't follow the 
MS., or if he did he couldn't pronounce the needed 
word. Well, he summoned the prompter, and charged 
him to be careful about ringing the curtain correctly, 
as he, Mr. Daly, would be over at the other 
theatre. 



AN ACTRESS ON GUARD 9 

I turned cold, my shoes seemed to loosen on my 
feet, the actors' eyes went through me like skewers, 
and then the awful night was half over ! Our house 
was large, but I had to goad myself along to keep up 
to the standard demanded — and then Mr. Daly 
came back. His lips were drawn down contemptu- 
ously. Mrs. Gilbert met him, and seemingly ques- 
tioned him. He waved his hand as if dismissing some- 
thing, and giving a short laugh came on to me. 

I said faintly: " You are back early, sir? " 

" Not early enough, though ! " he snapped. 

" You were disappointed? " I asked surprisedly. 

He gave me a quick, sharp glance. " Damnably ! " 
he answered briefly. " She's a sort of dramatic bol- 
ster — smother-voiced — shapeless — characterless ! " 

" But — but," I almost whispered, " she is blond." 

" Well, good Lord 1 you can't make an actress out 
of a wisp of hair, can you ? " I smiled a little. I knew 
tears were rising to my eyes, and I turned away. But 
he took me by the chin and turning my face back to 
him, looked at me a moment; then with a mocking 
laugh he said: " You are a sharp young piece, 

but " He ran his little finger up and down my 

nose, " but this seems all right — not disjointed yet, 
eh?" I seemed to be whirling round and round. I 
caught for a moment at the managerial arm, and held 
tight, and he said quite gently and kindly: " What a 
little fool you are ! There's your cue ! " And for the 
time I was safe ! Yet never did I cease my silent watch 
for the unknown woman, beautiful and gifted, who 
was coming, slowly or swiftly I knew not, but surely 



io THE LIFE OF A STAR 

coming, to say to me: " Your shoes, please. I am the 
new choice of the city," and I should answer: " With 
pleasure," even if I choked blue-black in the face over 
the gracious falsehood. 

The second season was drawing to a close. I had 
played many parts and still held my place with the 
public, that especially after the burning of our home 
theatre had been so good, so very good to me, that I 
could have knelt down and bumped my forehead at 
its feet, after the Oriental fashion, in expression of 
my gratitude. We were rehearsing a new play. My 
fears were almost in a doze; only now and then I 
swept the distant horizon for a sign, and contentedly 
putting down my glass one day, lo! I ran straight 
against her on our own stage — the creature in whom 
we all saw my probable successor. 

That later happenings may be better understood 
I must explain here that, in one way from first to last, 
I was ever the cause of travail of spirit, of anxiety, dis- 
tress, and anger to Mr. Daly; and though I was sorry 
from my very heart, I could in no wise help him or 
myself for not being foreign-born, or foreign-trained. 
I could only act at night, within the magic fiery circle 
of foot and border lights; and to his orders, to his 
entreaties that I should act a scene at rehearsal, with 
those guying brother-and-sister fiends of mine sitting 
about, " laying for me," I could only beg, explain and 
finally declare : " You must either trust me or dismiss 
me, sir. I can die, but I can't act in daylight ! " 

After his delight in the mad scene of " Article 47," 
which had never once been rehearsed in full, he 



AN ACTRESS ON GUARD 1 1 

vowed he would always trust to the faint indications 
of the rehearsed scene. But, alas, as soon as a new 
part was in hand his fears returned, his anger rose, my 
tears fell, and the old battle was on again. 

" Madeline Morel " called for a long cast. Every 
gentleman in the company with, I think, one excep- 
tion, was in it, and all the ladies as well, and among us 
a funny thing happened. Mrs. Gilbert had a mere 
scrap of a part — a peasant woman — and when the 
time came she played it with such a wealth of detail 
and such skill that it loomed up a real character 
study. Still the part was a scrap, and Mrs. Gilbert — 
did not like it. Miss Fanny Morant, whom both Mr. 
Wallack and Mr. Daly considered the best player 
of great ladies then on the stage, had a very import- 
ant French, grande-dame, mother part, but she — did 
not like it. Miss Fanny Davenport had a part that 
might have been written for her to star in: French 
actress, gorgeous costumes, no morals to speak of, but 
a dazzling wit and a good heart. Heavens! you 
could fairly hear the applause as you read it, and she 
cried loudly she — did not like it. Miss Sara Jewett 
had a part, a stainless, lovely, convent-bred girl, striv- 
ing to aid the stricken heroine, and she — did not like 
it. And I, the subdued, the silent, I read over the 
part of Madeline. Her character was not sharply 
drawn, was wobbly, uncertain, illogical. Well, open 
confession is ever good for the soul, and, by gracious, 
/ said I didn't like my part either! A long-faced 
dark-browed group we were, when, creeping like a 
snail, the generally quick-moving, dapper Jimmy 



12 THE LIFE OF A STAR 

Lewis came in, paler than ever, his small face puck- 
ered as if frost-bitten. I asked: 

" What's the matter, Jimmy? Sick? " 

He glared at me, held out a roll of MS. and said: 
"Sick? No! It's that d part! / don't like it!" 

There was a lightning-like exchange of glances and 
then a wave of hysterical laughter surged through 
the room that drowned every complaint of every 
part, and we presently resorted to the stage to begin 
work, as pleasant-faced a crowd of actresses as any 
stage-manager could wish to meet; while Lewis, the 
non-comprehending, blinked helplessly, muttering: 
" Well, I'm hanged, if the whole gang hasn't gone 
crazy! " 

One part required a special engagement. The char- 
acter was that of a very young, only daughter of a 
noble house ; pretty, spoiled, spirited, as well as spirit- 
uelle, and desperately in love with her fiance. We 
had young people that were handsome, but they were 
too settled, too stolid, not in the least mignonne, and, 
although this part only lasted through one act, it was 
really very important. A young lady had been en- 
gaged, but she could not be present at the first re- 
hearsal, so Mr. Daly proceeded to read her part. 
That was not an uncommon thing to do and had he 
confined himself to reading alone all had been well. 
But no, he must needs act the girlish passion, the 
pettish changeableness, and so placed the company 
upon the rack. 

Mr. Crisp and I looked on in wicked joy, for we 
had been the last victims of his passion for arranging 



AN ACTRESS ON GUARD 13 

and directing love scenes. Never shall I forget that 
last moment when we on the stage made love to Mr. 
Daly's shouted orders from the front of the house. 
Poor Crisp — a very good lover by the way — perspir- 
ing and red and mad, held me: " Oh, hold her 
closer! " cried Mr. Daly disgustedly. " Relax, Miss 
Morris, relax ! " 

" If I relax another bit," I groaned, " I shall go 
down flat on the floor! I can't relax any more and 
stand on my feet ! " 

" I don't want you to stand on your feet," came 
roaring back. " He should support you completely. 
Take her around the waist, man, and draw her to 

you, and — for God 's sake, Crisp, what are you 

scratching her back like that for? " 

It was the end. I dropped flat on the stage in help- 
less laughter, while Crisp dashed off into a dark place 
where he said — I have been told — many very repre- 
hensible things, while the company held on to the 
scenery and laughed ! 

And now, oh now ! here was this tall, gaunt, brown- 
moustached man, crowned with a shocking bad hat, 
casting his long arms about the shrinking shoulders 
of handsome George Clarke — matinee god and good 
fellow — who simply writhed under Mr. Daly's com- 
mand to put more warmth into his work; and while 
we strove to keep our glee from breaking forth in 
sound, just when Clarke's ears were red enough to 
light matches, and Mr. Daly was doing his cooing, 
coquettish best, there broke upon the air a high and 
crackling laugh. We were aghast! Mr. Daly threw 



i 4 THE LIFE OF A STAR 

up his head angrily: " What was that? Who did 
that? " he demanded looking about. 

At a little distance, tall and stately, stood the gen- 
tle and reserved Charles Fisher, with wide, amazingly 
innocent blue eyes fixed upon him, as he answered 
composedly : " I did it, sir — I — that is — er, there are 
certain incongruities between the words, and — er your 
appearance, that are, well — er, that are infernally 
funny, sir." 

We waited for the bolt — it never fell. There was 
a slight twitching of the managerial lips, but dignity 
carried him to the near end of the act. Clarke tried 
to walk aside, but our chief fiend, that crowned king- 
player of pranks, Louis James, was at his side in a 
flash, gravely and courteously commending Clarke's 
last effort, assuring him that the love scene with Daly 
was both tender and chaste. 

The next day the newcomer was there, and before 
rehearsal was over I was conscious of danger, while 
everyone else was startled and amazed, for, you see, 
this young girl was about eighteen and looked even 
younger ; a mere slip of a girl with a graceful, wand- 
like figure. Her mignonne face, with delicately mod- 
elled features, was lighted up with long-lashed hazel 
eyes. She had wavy, yellow-brown hair, and a dimple 
did the rest. A charming little empty-headed child 
she seemed, who chattered the whole morning 
through about the beauty of the wonderful wedding- 
gown she was to wear, and her hopes of being pret- 
tier than her bridesmaids, etc. 

And then her act came on and we began to sit up 



AN ACTRESS ON GUARD 15 

and take notice. Instead of merely reading her part 
with bright understanding, she indulged in little airs, 
graces and affectations ; in tripping, mincing, and pos- 
ing; and once when Mr. Daly said: " No, no, Miss 

V ! that is a trifle too knowing," she swiftly and 

cheerfully exclaimed, "Oh, do you think so? Well, 
perhaps a bit of the baby-stare manner?" — and in- 
stantly lowered her head slightly, arched her brows, 
and lifting rounded eyes, stared with the pretty blank- 
ness of a very young calf or a baby that has just 
emptied a bottle. 

A man behind me exclaimed : " Good Lord ! what 
nerve ! " and the Boston-bred one standing alone near 
the bare wall took his hat off and bowed deeply and 
gravely. But when the love scene came, and she began 
to warm to her work; to bill and coo and gurgle; 
to cast her slender self about in lovely poses ; to clasp 
her hands and roll her eyes; then it was that, figu- 
ratively speaking, Mr. Daly prostrated himself, with 
his brow in the dust, before the creature found at 
last, who could act at rehearsal, and let a man know 
what he was to expect at night. He was plainly en- 
raptured. People looked curiously my way, and 
I smiled my self-defensive, try-to-look-pleasant 
smile, until my face ached from the strain. 

Soon George Clarke — the champion lover of that 
day — began to find his occupation pretty nearly gone, 
this little maid insisting upon doing most of the love- 
making herself, wreathing her arms about his neck, 
clinging to his shoulder, or, as he viciously put it, 
"sagging" from his shoulder; but the thing that 



1 6 THE LIFE OF A STAR 

most aggravated that manly actor was a little trick 
of throwing her arms about him bodily just above the 
elbows, thus holding him a helpless and, he felt, a 
ludicrous prisoner. And when, one day, Mr. Daly 
called out, " Embrace her, George! What's the mat- 
ter that you stand there like a post? Embrace her! " 
" Well, I will," answered Clarke, with unfailing 
gentleness, but with murder in his eye. " I will if the 
lady lets go of my arms long enough to give me a 
chance," adding in a lower tone to the too, too ardent 
one: " Say, you'll make this a sort of * catch-as-catch 
can ' scene for me if you don't stop clipping my arms 
like that." And when the act ended he came off 
shooting his cuffs, straightening his coat and tie, and, 
turning his back to one of the gentlemen, with a pet- 
ulant laugh asked: " Say, is that girl all off me yet? 
Just give me a brush-off to make sure." Ah, such are 
the trials of leading men ! 

As time went on we all saw Mr. Daly's growing 
interest and delight, and we all wondered what Miss 
V would not do when under the triple inspira- 
tion of lights, of music, and of audience. I took into 
account her Dresden-china beauty, her extreme youth, 
her remarkable aplomb, and loosened the latchets of 
my shoes, while quite unconsciously I fell into the 
habit of taking mental farewell of many things. So 
we all waited the new favourite, and only the Boston 
man, ever silent, smiled grimly and sometimes 
laughed with his face to the wall. And so, heavy of 
heart, I dressed for the first performance. The new- 
found little pearl of promise did not appear till late 






AN ACTRESS ON GUARD 17 

in the evening. Everyone was on edge, at his or her 
best. The play moved steadily on in a rising cres- 
cendo of passion and grief. Clarke's love scene with 
me (I being sweetheart No. 1) had been beautifully 
tender and sincere. Louis James was at his smiling, 
polished best, showing all the implacable cruelty of 
the reformed rake, and our unequal but desperate 
struggle tightened spectators' nerves almost to the 
breaking point; and so prepared, the great farewell 
speech swept the house like a tornado. Always chary 
of allowing his people individual " calls," Mr. Daly 
shouted at last against the increasing applause " All 
right — take it, and be hanged to them ! " And as I 
advanced, holding grateful hands out to the first 
spray as it were of that Niagara of applause, my 
heart contracted with the violence of physical pain. 
Something whispered maliciously, " Make the most 
of it — it may be the last. This time to-morrow night 
they may be waiting impatiently to greet with joyful 
cries the dainty loveliness, the youthful charm and 
brilliant acting of the yet unseen — the newcomer." 
In spite of all honest preparation tears must have 
rushed into my eyes, because I saw all the smiling 
crowd dimly as through a fog or mist, and in answer 
to some faint remonstrance from within I said: " But 
she will have no need of power of invective, of de- 
vouring rage. Her manager will select plays fitted 
to her powers, when once he hears the mighty city's 
choice." One moment I closed my eyes and swayed 
helplessly, for the draught of renunciation was very 
bitter in the swallowing, whatever sweetness might 



1 8 THE LIFE OF A STAR 

follow later on. And then in a sort of woful grati- 
tude, with pallid smiles I bowed myself away, and 
someone remarked in a low voice, " She's nigh to 
breakin' down," and another asked, " Overwork? " 
but the first made answer, " Naw, guess she's scared 

over that Cathedral scene, because " and no more 

I heard, nor should have heard, had they shouted, 
for I was staring at a slender, graceful figure, whose 
trailing white satin glory and crown of orange blos- 
soms alone told me who she was. 

The lovely Sara Jewett passing by exclaimed, " Did 
you ever see such a mask of make-up? " 

Ah, that was it! A cruel, extinguishing mask of 
unnecessarily heavy pastes, powders, paints, po- 
mades! The delicate modelling of her small features 
was lost beneath it. In very truth the too intense 
white, red and black suggested at a distance a baby 
clown's face. 

"My dear! my dear!" expostulated Miss Mo- 
rant, " you have time in plenty. Run back and change 
your make-up. Your smooth child's face requires but 
a mere dust of powder and a touch of rouge. Run, 
make the change and be your fresh young self 
again! " 

But she replied quite positively, " Oh, I couldn't 
think of such a thing! I'm made up by the French 
method, which is absolutely correct, as I suppose you 
know?" 

" No," answered the stately Morant, " I had not 
known, but I'm ever pleased to sit at the feet of 
youth and — learn!" 



AN ACTRESS ON GUARD 19 

Most people would have curled up at that tone, 

that manner, but Miss V simply turned on the 

baby stare and curled not at all. They were ringing 
up. I saw Mr. Daly hurrying to his lair in the first 
entrance. How many times I had seen him there to 
await my difficult scenes, his eyes anxious, his face 
palely rigid, and his long fingers clutching desper- 
ately at the lapel of his coat. Now he watched with 
eyes alight, a smiling face, and apparently he did not 
know there was a lapel on his coat — such was the 
comfort derived from one who could act by daylight. 

The crowd of bridesmaids, mincing and. preening 
about the bride like a flock of pigeons, was charming. 
Then, then the smile on Mr. Daly's face began to 
fade ; he looked puzzled. And no wonder, for there 
seemed to be no elan, no glow. Aplomb so exagger- 
ated as this might easily pass for indifference! Mr. 
Daly leaned forward and whispered sharply, " Wake 
up ! " and, yes, he grabbed at the lapel of his coat. 
For the love episode was on and what was the 
matter? There were the graceful poses, the twining 
and embracing, the tender protestations, all exactly 
as they were rehearsed — and no more. Yes, that was 
it — no more! She had done her very best, let herself 
all out by day, and, with nothing in reserve, seemed 
mechanical at night. 

The scene was lightly applauded. Mr. Daly pulled 
his hat down to the tops of his ears, and suddenly the 
scales fell from my eyes. And instead of the radiant, 
all-gifted rival, who was to push me from my stool, 
I saw a very pretty, over-confident young girl — that 



20 THE LIFE OF A STAR 

was all. A great relief swept over me. A sudden new 
strength thrilled me. Afraid of the next act? Non- 
sense ! I was afraid of nothing now — I was re- 
prieved. I would show my gratitude. 

It was a great night, a glorious one, and after all 
the noise was over, Mr. Daly said, " Good girl! you 
never did better in your life." And I treasured the 
words, for if he praised but seldom he was always 
sincere. With unspeakable extravagance I sent for 
a cab, that I might get safely home all my many floral 
monstrosities and a few bunches of long-stemmed, 
unskewered roses. And as the horse seemed to be 
walking in his sleep, I leaned back and thought these 
true thoughts : " Oh, I am safe now; and shall be for 
some time. This play is sure of a run. The unknown 
can't materialise before the first of next season. I 
have suffered two false alarms, but that must not 
prevent me from watching out for the real one." 
For though I was happy, very happy, and found a 
new success ineffably sweet, back of it all was that 
woman out there, waiting just beyond sight in the 
near future, who precisely as I had risen, in a single 
night, might in a single night supersede me; so let 
me be prepared, dear Lord! And that was the con- 
siderable alloy I found in the joy of being a success- 
ful leading lady. 



II 

(I AM MARRIED 

THERE is no habit more tenacious than the 
habit of work. Once acquire it, once let it 
fasten its powerful fangs upon you and you 
are helpless. You may never " loaf " and invite your 
soul. You cannot lounge about with your hands in 
your lap doing nothing all the fair long day. In 
reality, to the victim of the working habit there are 
no long days, they are all short days — yes, and they 
are short at both ends. Like many another I realised 
my danger when too late. 

When I came to New York and the continued run 
of a play left me some hours of the day without 
work, I immediately went forth and hunted work 
to fill them up with, and 'twas thus I came to make 
the acquaintance of Monsieur Fasquelle of France, 
who had so much anxiety as to the whereabouts of 
his brother-in-law's hat and the butcher's candlestick. 
An excellent grammarian, M. Fasquelle, but a bit 
eccentric as a conversationalist it always seemed to 
me. I saw my danger then, but the habit was already 
too strong, and alas, it is not broken yet. Therefore, 
it is perhaps not surprising that when I began to star, 
finding considerable time, in which I used to study 
plays, unoccupied, I turned my attention to the subject 
of matrimony. And let me say here, that the actress, 
even the sentimental one, generally arranges her 

21 



22 THE LIFE OF A STAR 

marriage with brevity, celerity and dispatch. She 
cannot, for her life, bring herself to look upon her 
wedding as a matter of world-moving importance, 
as does the girl in private life, who, judging by her 
own excitement, pride, display and momentary su- 
premacy, decides that her marriage is nothing short 
of a social cataclysm. 

Late in the '6o's, actors still had their costumes 
carried to and from the theatre in champagne baskets 
by the basket boy, and the very first and most im- 
portant duty of the actor or actress after rehearsal, 
was to get the basket ready and place it outside the 
door. Then, only, one might feel free. Well, Cupid 
had been taking a little flyer behind the scenes, and 
a young comedian had been stricken with love for a 
bit of a girl who danced between the first play and 
the farce. One day he saw the old leader of the 
orchestra tap her cheek with his bow, and the awful 
familiarity was too much to be endured silently. 
He walked home with her, and in the boarding-house 
hallway he spoke. A minister's name was mentioned 
— a number — a street — something about an office, a 
license; nothing seemed very clear except his love 
and his desire to get married at once : " Oh, Lizzie, 
will you marry me? Dear little Lizzie, will you? " 
he implored. And Lizzie, who was about the height 
of a nine-year-old child, but was full sixteen, very 
pink and very pleased, looked coyly up, then modestly 
down and answered: " I'm awful glad you love me, 
Ted — but — but really you know you'll have to wait 
a little." 



I AM MARRIED 23 

Down went Ted's face. "Wait?" he cried, in a 
tragic voice. "Wait? Good kingdom, why — what 
for — how long? " 

And Lizzie, with wide reproachful blue eyes, said : 
" Why, Ted, you know well enough — you'll have to 
wait till I get my basket ready! " 

And when he heard the thump of that article at 
his sweetheart's door, he issued forth from his room 
— tied the strings of her bonnet under her chin, and 
they sallied forth and were married. And it is 
gratifying to know that that knot was not only simply 
and swiftly tied, but securely, too — for though they 
endured many hardships, faced many troubles, lost 
two wee lambs from the little flock sent them, while 
the blackest kind of a small goat was spared for 
them to struggle with, yet the sorrow and shame of 
divorce came never near them, never, and love lasted 
while life lasted. 

Another actress-bride, here in New York city, 
being unable to leave town, though the heat was 
appalling, was married in the parlour, in a " going- 
away gown of pale grey," the papers said, and the 
reverend gentleman who had officiated having de- 
parted, straightway the bridal pair also went away 
upon their wedding journey — away upstairs — up 
a ladder — through a scuttle — out upon the roof, 
where a hammock swung between the chimneys. The 
bride ensconced herself and was sweetly served with 
ice-cream and angel cake by a very handsome, kneel- 
ing groom, who, finding the gravel cruelly hard and 
sharp, folded the napkin into a pad and placed it 



24 THE LIFE OF A STAR 

beneath his bruised knee. And when the cream and 
angel cake were gone, their honeymoon rose and 
found them there with enwreathing arms and waving 
palm-leaf fans, still at their banquet, but now supping 
of the nectar of confessed love; each listening eagerly 
to the other's tale of how and when and where the 
first spark of love flew into an innocent, unsuspecting 
heart. Nor was the element of danger quite absent 
from this wedding journey. For the bride was a 
large woman, though a darkly handsome one, large 
was she and heavy, and the scuttle was small, the 
ladder almost straight and weak to shakiness. There 
was an earnest discussion along toward dawn as to 
which one should first descend, and finally the bride 
declared for the groom's advance: " You see, should 
I stick fast, dear, you might half starve up here, be- 
fore our condition was discovered. But if you go first 
and I, in following, stick fast, you are ready to give 
the alarm and call upon the fire department for as- 
sistance — for scuttles, I think, are in the line of fire 
work." 

So she came last, and though most of the rounds 
of the ladder came down with her, she was safely 
back from her wedding journey. Three weeks after- 
ward, at a birthday dinner on Staten Island, I sat 
opposite this bride. Our hostess had been speaking 
of favourite places on the Hudson, and suddenly she 
asked of my vis-a-vis: "Your honeymoon was on 
the Hudson — so sensible, and did you go up or 
down? " 

Pushing a tiny bone from the fish on her plate, 



I AM MARRIED 25 

she answered, calmly: " I went up," then, as all the 
blood in my body seemed to be pumping up into my 
face, she gave me a reproachful look and added: 
" Don't you admire the country about Newburgh? " 
And that woman prides herself upon her truthful- 
ness. 

In contrast to these two rather exceptionally abrupt 
ceremonies, I recall the fact that at the first wedding 
I had the pleasure of attending in New York the 
young girl-bride had so worn out her strength in 
preparations, in shopping, in fittings, in receiving 
and acknowledging, in planning and arranging and 
rehearsing, that grave doubts were expressed by the 
family physician of her ability to pass through the 
church ceremony and the home reception without 
collapsing utterly. And the bridesmaids found them- 
selves shouldered about, as they declared, by doctor 
and nurse ; and when the maid of honour came to en- 
treat for the frantic groom, one word with the bride, 
one single word, just through the merest crack of the 
door — that tormented young person burst forth with 
a " No ! " and a passionate declaration that she 
" wished she had never seen him; and if he sent her 
another message she would never look at him again, 
as long as she lived ! " 

There were nerves for you. And oh, the pity of it ! 
I saw a small bottle of chloral slipped into the travel- 
ling bag of that bride. 

Yes, the girl in private life and the actress hold 
widely different views of weddings — weddings mind 
you, not marriages. An actress loves as warmly, 



26 THE LIFE OF A STAR 

promises as truly, hopes as fairly as does the outsider 
who makes the ancient vow that is yet ever new, 
" To love, to honour, to obey! " Only the girl in 
private life often finds in her wedding her sole op- 
portunity for personal display. It is her day of power 
and authority; when she plays the leading part; 
when she is. the head and the front, the beginning and 
the ending. When — as a slangy little woman re- 
marked to me a week or two ago — she is the bride 
and the bride is the whole show. Hence her joy in 
the great spectacular wedding. But the actress is on 
exhibition every day of her life. She is a mimic bride 
over and over again ; and to a sensitive woman there 
is almost an immodesty in a public wedding for an 
actress. 

All of which, when the time came, I elaborately, 
carefully and I hope lucidly explained to the family 
of my adoption. The wonder to me is that I ever 
married at all. In the first place, my love affairs ran 
a course so far from smoothness, so tangled and so 
rough, that a map of them would resemble the net- 
work of gullies a heavy rain storm cuts in garden 
paths and driveways. Then again, I got a bad start 
in matrimonial proposals — those cats not only spoiled 
the first one, but seemed to some extent to have 
hoodooed the others. You are sceptical, perhaps, 
because I, who was not beautiful, speak of lovers and 
proposals; but you should not be, for the woman 
who is plain and knows it often sees in her plainness 
a challenge from fate, and if she amiably and gaily 
takes it up, is apt to win — well, lovers, among other 



I AM MARRIED 27 

things. Many women are in love with love before 
the special lover arrives upon the scene, and while 
there is flirtation that is silly and flirtation that is cruel 
there is too that flirtation which means attention 
without intention, that is quite a charming pastime, 
and one that is popular alike with homely or hand- 
some women. Only the beauty often says to herself, 
after a new conquest : " It's this lovely mask he cares 
for. If my hair became thin; if my skin became 
sallow, my eyes dull, would he care for me then? 
Could I hold him? While the woman whose mirror 
shows her perhaps only clear eyes and generous 
wholesomeness, knows that keenest triumph. It is 
/ whom he cares for! I — my very self! For here is 
no rare beauty of feature or colouring to attract his 
eye! 

Well, beautiful women, who are the flowers of the 
human race, can afford to suffer a mild twinge or two : 
they have only to look into the nearest pair of eyes 
to find comforting admiration and be happy again. 
But oh, what a tragedy is the fading of a great 
beauty! A splendid creature once lost her nearest 
and dearest, and she brought herself to say: "The 
Lord gave — the Lord taketh away — blessed be the 
name of the Lord!" But when her beauty began 
to fade, with startling rapidity, she stood before her 
glass, in the presence of a friend, and forcing a smile, 
she said : " Ah, well — the Lord gave — the Lord 
taketh away — b-blessed — oh, I can't — I can't," she 
shrieked, " I can't bless His name ! Why — oh, why 
give me beauty, only to rob me of it? It's cruel — 



28 THE LIFE OF A STAR 

cruel ! " One who saw that agony of loss expressing 
itself in uncontrollable cries and writhings, must have 
felt that sometimes one pays a penalty for being 
unusually beautiful. Yet I truly believe that no 
woman would be deterred even by such a sight from 
wishing to be fair to see. 

Did you ever open your mother's Bible without 
finding a pressed rose or a pansy or a violet there? 
To you it looks yellow and dry as dust and meaning- 
less, but she knows what you do not, and it is rich 
with the colour and sweetness her memory endows it 
with. Just so a woman has closed between the long 
past years the love affairs of her girlhood. Mere 
names, chill, meaningless they may seem to you, but 
her memory gives to them eye-sparkles, smile-flashes, 
the swift word, the knightly act; and no matter what 
change time and the world may have wrought 
upon those men, they remain ever young, ever ad- 
mirable ! 

For my part, when I sort out my own little bunch 
of beaux I feel now a sort of maternal tenderness for 
them, and my tormenting spine almost straightens 
itself with pride as I recall the fact that every man- 
jack of them made his name stand for something 
worth while, and wrote it high enough to be clearly 
read by his fellow citizens, before retiring from the 
great struggle we call life. The demands of my pro- 
fession received my first consideration; therefore, in 
the character of sweetheart I was pretty severely 
criticised now and then, while as a friend I was de- 
clared a creature of superlative perfections. 






I AM MARRIED 29 

One resentful male creature remarked, as he 
grabbed his hat: "Love? Love's nothing but a 
miserable little side-issue in your life — and yet some 
donkey has written that love is only an incident in a 
man's life, and is the whole world to woman ! Much 
he knew about it! " 

John Cockerill, after kicking the hassock down 
stairs, declared that if all girls were as prudent and 
cautious as I was, every cottage in the city would 
be for rent, and a wedding would become a nine- 
days' wonder — while a soldier solemnly vowed that 
every single time he tried to deploy his tenderest 
sentiments, his admiration and his love before me, I 
left the reviewing stand to see if a wig was properly 
dressed for the night, or pulled a part over to me, 
to make quite sure of my lines in some infernal stage 
love scene. But out of the detritus of grumbling loves 
what splendid friendships came! Frank and true 
and lasting to the grave! 

It's curious, too, the way in which my small love 
affairs are all tangled up with certain plays. My 
taking of a husband is so tied up with the production 
of " Macbeth " that I simply can't think of my wed- 
ding without hearing a swirl of the 

"Around, around, around, around — 
About, about, about, about . . . 

music of the witches' cave scene. Dear me — dear 
me! how those two memories do braid themselves 
together ! First of all, it was the man I was engaged 



3 o THE LIFE OF A STAR 

to marry — Mr. John A. Cockerill — who gave to Mr. 
F. C. Harriott his letter of introduction to me. Then, 
to our mutual joy and happiness, John and I snapped 
our bonds and became our peaceable, law-abiding 
selves again. That becoming known to Mr. Harriott, 
he concluded that he would now enter the lists — 
which was right enough, only his courtship would 
have been much simplified if Lady Macbeth had not 
come upon the scene at almost the same time — for 
place aux dames. The lady was the first considera- 
tion. What a state of mind I was in to be sure ! I could 
not accept the traditional, martial-stalking drum- 
major of a woman, who spoke in sepulchral stomach 
tones, and splashed about in blood, as though she 
were quite used to it; who spoke of dashing out the 
brains of her suckling babe with a fiendish satisfac- 
tion in her own nerve. That made her final remorse- 
ful breaking-down of brain and heart a contradiction, 
almost an impossibility. 

Discussion of the famous character grew warm, 
reached the papers, and even the public, in the person 
of " Constant Reader," " Old Play-goer " and " Ver- 
itas," wrestled with the great question anent the 
masculinity or femininity of Lady Macbeth. 

Occasionally my view of her character met with 
approval, but oftener I got a rap over the knuckles,, 
by being sharply reminded that my age and inex- 
perience only fitted me to follow, not to lead. That 
Mrs. Siddons, Miss Cushman, Madame Janauschek, 
had clung to a traditional Lady Macbeth, and that 
was the only one the public knew or wanted. I meekly 



I AM MARRIED 31 

reminded " Veritas " that Mrs. Sarah Siddons, late 
in life, had herself declared for a distinctly feminine 
Lady Macbeth, fully confessing the error of her 
own characterisation, but adding she had not the 
courage to alter the presentation the public knew so 
well. 

An actress in the West, who was not overburdened 
with reverence, once remarked in my hearing, that 
"Lady Macbeth was a fraud; that if the part were 
given out without a name, any decently fair actress 
would accept it without a second thought, but tack 
on the name Lady Macbeth, and the best pair of 
knees in the profession would begin to tremble. Be- 
sides, the part was greater to write about than it was 
to act," in her opinion. 

There was truth in the first part of that assertion; 
there is a sort of traditional terror that wraps Lady 
Macbeth about as with a robe. You find all the 
greatness of the mighty Pritchard, Siddons, Cush- 
man, and the rest looming up between you and the 
part you are studying; they and their business, their 
reading of certain lines: Siddons — "We fail?" — 
Cushman — "Give me the daggers!" go whirling 
through your brain. You feel smaller and smaller, 
and worst of all, those great traditions are frighten- 
ing you away from Shakespeare's Lady Macbeth. 
You forget you have the same material to build with 
that they had — Shakespeare's own words. That you 
have the right to construe those words according to 
the best effort of your own God-given intelligence; 
and very often custom is too strong and one more 



32 THE LIFE OF A STAR 

Lady Macbeth is too monumental, declamatory, gory- 
minded and domineering. 

Yet Macbeth loved the fair-faced hypocrite and 
petted her with endearing terms. She was his 
"chuck," his "dearest chuck," his "dear love.' , 
Even to his king, he openly shows his love for her, 
when he asks the royal permission to himself act as 
harbinger 

"And make joyful the hearing of my wife 
With your approach . . /* 

He makes no pretence of hastening ahead to prepare 
for the king's reception and bestowal — not one, only 
" to make joyful the hearing of his wife." Very 
well then, granted he loved and cossetted her — he 
was a fine soldier, big and bluff and physically brave, 
and " in joining contrasts lieth love's delight " — then 
his contrast would be the slender, slight, possibly 
small woman. Fair, soft, tender in seeming, this 
" dearest chuck," whose soft body housed a soul of 
fire; whose brain seethed with plans to gratify her 
devouring ambition. Nor was this pet and darling 
of the rough soldier's love supported in her dread 
deeds by her own mere normal strength. Crafty and 
subtle as she was, clever as her reading of Macbeth' s 
character proves her to have been, she only became 
terrible as a fate through her absolute reliance upon 
the supernatural power of the witches. There is 
something appalling in her ready faith and eager 
summoning of the spirits of evil to her aid; and right 






I AM MARRIED 33 

in that invocation I find my proof that Lady Macbeth 
was naturally womanly, pitiful, capable of repentance 
for wrong done, and had sufficient belief in God, to 
at least fear Him. For in that moment of exaltation, 
when the promise of the crown was tightening every 
thrilling nerve to a mad determination, her first 
demand of the " murdering ministers " is that they 
shall unsex her: 

" And fill me from the crown to the toe, top-full 
Of direst cruelty/* 

Further she wants 

"... the access and passage to remorse " 

stopped up, fearing the softening influence of her 
little child. She prays the evil spirits: 

"... come to my woman s breasts 
And take my milk for gall. . . ." 

And apparently already convinced that she will have 
to do the awful deed herself, she prays : 

" . . . Come thick night, 
And pall thee in the dunnest smoke of hell! 
That my keen knife see not the wound it makes; 
Nor heaven peep through the blanket of the dark, 
To cry, Hold, hold!" 

She is graceful, suave and gracious to the King, she 
flatters and cajoles Macbeth, and when her boldness 



34 THE LIFE OF A STAR 

startles him and he would gain time and " speak 
further," with assurance that is almost patronage, 
she bids him : 

. . . Only look up clear; 
Leave all the rest to me." 

You see already she is relying utterly upon the super- 
natural powers of the witches, and it is her faith in 
them that sustains her through the awful ordeals that 
follow. And when at last it is borne in upon her that 
they have played her husband false; that all stained 
with crime they two are left to face an outraged God, 
how quickly the delicate woman becomes a physical 
wreck. 

Masculine? Never! Could a masculine woman 
show such tender pity and patience as Lady Macbeth 
shows for Macbeth in the banquet scene? Oh, the 
weariness, yet the wifely, almost maternal, gentleness 
of that line to the broken man : 

" You lack the season of all natures, sleep" 

So I was very busy in defending my idea of the 
feminine Lady Macbeth; in trying to arrange some 
" business "for my exit after the banquet scene, for 
alas, I had become a star, and had no one to " direct " 
for me now. Instead, in an agony of embarrassment 
and shyness, I had to direct everything myself. How 
I blessed my old days of service in the ballet just 
then, for I was so familiar with the time-honoured 



I AM MARRIED 35 

music of Locke, with every bit of business for the 
apparitions, soldiers, supers, et al. f that not even the 
oldest witch chasseing about the cauldron could find 
a chance to sneer at my ignorance of the old tragedy 
— modern as I was. It was only the business for my 
own part that gave me a pause. Then, one day, that 
fine old actress, Mrs. Farren, who was an honour 
to her profession all her long life, and who had 
been Lady Macbeth before I was I at all, said to 
me very kindly, as she pressed my aching head 
between her cool hands: "Don't, my dear! Give 
it up!" 

"Don't what, Mrs. Farren?" I asked, leaning 
my head against her breast for a few restful mo- 
ments. " Give up what? " 

" Your foolish idea of a coaxing, crafty, womanly 
Lady Macbeth. Forgive my plain speaking, my 
child, but you work so hard, and I fear you are pour- 
ing your strength upon the dry earth. I hate to see 
such waste. My dear, I starred for years in " Mac- 
beth," and the louder, more violent, more declama- 
tory I was the better the people liked me. They ex- 
pect to see Macbeth bullied into action, to speak 
frankly." 

11 But," I asked, " what makes her break down, if 
she is such a white sergeant of a woman ? The public 
must think that " 

" That's where you blunder, my dear, the public 
does not think. That's one of your new notions. 
Now, my child, you are sensitive, so why not save 
yourself unkind criticism. Cut your cloth by the 



36 THE LIFE OF A STAR 

good old-fashioned pattern — you know, it well. Oh, 
that's your cue — well run along.' 1 

Imagine my heaviness of heart after that, for I 
knew the dear woman spoke with the kindest in- 
tention, and I was deeply touched, for at that time 
she was almost a stranger to me. And if you can 
believe it, that being also a Friday, Mr. Harriott 
concluded that that afternoon was a fit and proper 
occasion for a proposal; and being a man of consider- 
able decision of character, he proposed. And lo! 
we both made the discovery that in the breast of this 
meek and humble Clara there dwelt a certain pride, 
stiff-necked and exacting. For you see, I was an ac- 
tress — otherwise a nobody, and this gentleman who 
addressed me was an outsider and a member of an 
old and a well-known family, and I said: "When 
your people are acquainted with your intentions, 

and " 

Of course he interrupted me with the time-honoured 
remark about " marrying him, not, etc.," but I, hav- 
ing been made quite savage by the " Macbeth " re- 
hearsal, was determined to marry the whole family 
or not at all. No — not even would I try on a ring, let 
alone wear one, until the Harriotts on one side and the 
Havemeyers on the other, knew and approved of the 
proposed marriage. And he went forth to seek his 
family, while I sought bay rum, a handkerchief and 
the playbook of " Macbeth," and the proposal of 
marriage hung in the air, like Mahomet's coffin — but 
what could you expect of a proposal made on a 
Friday? 



Ill 

I STAND BETWEEN LADY MACBETH 
AND MATRIMONY 

THAT night of the suspended marriage pro- 
posal was on my part devoted to a final 
seance with Lady Macbeth. When good- 
nights were over; when little dog, Bertie, that she 
might not tease me for my attention, had received an 
ancient pair of gloves to guard; when the house was 
quiet; then indeed, with all my soul, I strove to 
make the great woman-criminal reveal herself to my 
awed understanding, if only in some slight degree. 
I decided, too, upon a definite plan of action, for 
ready as I ever was to profit by the inspiration of the 
moment, I should have felt myself reckless and pre- 
suming had I not carefully prepared business for 
each scene. If inspiration came, so much the better, 
but if it should fail me, there would be the carefully 
thought out business, which meant security; and 
security meant dignity, and where would dignity be 
required if not in the delivery of Shakespeare's 
stately measures. 

Because I had represented fairly well the heroines 
of modern drama, there were people who believed 
that I was bound to measure Lady Macbeth by a 
strictly modern standard; bound to reduce to a col- 
loquial tone and manner the majestic formality of 
her awe-inspiring language. These unpleasant antici- 

37 



38 THE LIFE OF A STAR 

pations added to Mrs. Farren's fears, and my own 
sick terror of the part, were in a fair way to make 
my Lady Macbeth a sort of human blanc-mange, 
colourless and quaking. Then, at the most critical 
moment, a ray of encouragement came to me from an 
unexpected quarter. Miss Charlotte Cushman had 
once done me the great honour of coming in when 
her own work was over to see the last act of a play 
I was in. I had little to do, but she was generous in 
applause, and turning to her escort, she remarked, 
in her deep voice: "She is young and of the new 
school, I know, but I believe she is one of " us " after 
all — do you see how she listens when the others are 
speaking — how she keeps in the character all the 
time? That's a woman who began at the bottom of 
the ladder. I'm not afraid to wager she has been in 
the very ballet, somewhere, sometime. " And she 
seemed much gratified when told she had guessed 
correctly, and on two or three occasions she alluded 
to me as " the last of the old school." 

When the discussions anent the character of Lady 
Macbeth broke out, she was in Philadelphia, where 
the matter was brought to her attention, by a young 
man, generally known for his peculiarly clumsy flat- 
teries. It occurred to him that it would be a nice 
compliment and grateful to the feelings of the great 
actress to hear the ideas of a lesser one ridiculed 
and grossly caricatured, and he closed an exaggerated 
description of the feminine Lady Macbeth I stood 
for, with the laughter-choked cry: "And — and red 
hair — sandy red hair, may it please you ! She expects 



LADY MACBETH 39 

an audience to patiently submit to a Lady Macbeth 
with sandy hair! And where the grandeur and the 
terrifying force you have accustomed us to, is to come 
from, upon my soul I don't know, for the Morris 
is no more than five feet in height — ha ! ha ! " 

And with a calm and perhaps unconscious cruelty, 
Miss Cushman remarked: " Ah, about your own 
height, I imagine. But, young sir, you should know 
the power and force of the actress is not to be meas- 
ured by the weight avoirdupois of the woman. The 
few minutes I once passed in the company of a frail 
little victim of homicidal mania is the most terrifying 
memory of my life." 

" Ah, yes — quite so. Insanity is alarming," stam- 
mered the little man, " but — I — I was thinking of 
this young woman's presumption. To my mind now 
traditions should be sacred, and this idea of a 
mere little emotional actress attempting a great 
classic " 

Then the stately head went up — a real Cushman 
flash came into the calm eyes, as with generous 
warmth she cried : " In God's name, what would 
become of the stage without the presumption of the 
young? We, who have succeeded cannot live for- 
ever! Others must make ready to fill our places." 
Then turning to the lady who accompanied her that 
morning, she said with a smile: " My own luggage 
consisted in great part of youth and presumption, 
when I began my career, and I like this girl's pluck, 
in standing out for her own idea — besides, she is 
right. I have for years recognised the absolute 



4 o THE LIFE OF A STAR 

womanliness of Lady Macbeth — her reasoning is 
good. I have friends who rely to-day upon spirit- 
ualism for aid in well-doing, just as she thinks Lady 
Macbeth relied upon the witches for aid in wrong- 
doing. You cannot well escape from the perfect 
femininity of the character if you study her care- 
fully. You both look amazed — but what can I do at 
this time of my life? I played the part in the tradi- 
tional manner, the big, heavy style, and it was lucky 
for me that the public liked it, or I should have been 
short of a good drawing play — for though intellect- 
ually I am for the feminine Lady Macbeth, physi- 
cally " — she laughed — " I am not well fitted for the 
coaxing, purring, velvet-footed, supple hypocrite." 
Then turning back to the unfortunate youth, who 
had tempted his fate, she finished him and the subject 
both, by saying: " As to the red hair, sir, I know 
Scotland and its people well, and I believe there are 
more flaxen, red and sandy Scots than there are black 
ones. So she is justified in wearing red hair if it helps 
her to indicate the character." 

Oh, the thrill of joy that went through my heart 
when I heard that this big-brained, thoughtful, ex- 
perienced actress — the greatest Lady Macbeth of 
her time — declared for the femininity of that char- 
acter. Her words of generous encouragement were 
like a strong staff to lean upon, until the public could 
decide whether or no it would support my uncertain 
footsteps. 

Whenever the memory of that famous woman, 
Charlotte Cushman, is summoned suddenly to my 






LADY MACBETH 41 

mind, she appears not as Meg Merrilies; not as Queen 
Catharine, but as the stately gentlewoman, whose 
crown of beauty came to her with age in the pure 
white hair that seemed to soften not only her ex- 
pression, but the very outlines of her too square jaw 
and the majestic brow. So, often I used to see her 
driving in the park, frequently quite alone. Her 
grey silks, her swath of black laces, her regal bearing, 
her gentle courtesy, made the heart leap up in pride 
of her — for no royal woman in Europe looked so 
like the ideal queen-dowager as did that aged actress. 
And yet she never failed at the same time to suggest 
to me the idea of a supposedly extinct volcano; 
there was the lonely grandeur, the stern snow-cov- 
ered height, and great calm surface, but now and 
again certain sounds, certain tremors hinted strongly 
at the hidden fires still surging in that volcano of 
dramatic power and genius. 

When, heartened greatly by the reported words of 
Miss Cushman, I had decided upon a general plan 
of action, two matters of mere detail came up for 
most anxious consideration. Every actress is sensi- 
tively alive to the pleasure of a warm reception — 
that being the technical term for the applause with 
which the audience greets the first appearance of an 
artist before any word has been spoken. Generally 
speaking, it signifies a courteous greeting, correspond- 
ing to a lifted hat and a pleasant salutation. But on 
occasions when the actress is a special favourite, the 
reception, enthusiastic and long continued, becomes 
a demonstration, which is inartistic and destructive 



42 THE LIFE OF A STAR 

of the illusion of the play, since it drags the actress 
out of her part, and in her bowing and curtseying 
and smiling she becomes Miss Jones or Miss Morris, 
returning thanks to the public. A woman would not 
be human who did not enjoy to the last drop of her 
blood, just such a greeting, even though her artistic 
sense condemned it. Surely I ought to know — by 
the way, I hope at this distance of passed years I may 
speak frankly of triumphs won, of favours received, 
with no more charge of vanity than is made against 
the silver-haired mother, who recounts for her 
daughter's entertainment the conquests her beauty 
made in the past days of her acknowledged belle- 
hood. Of course her beauty is gone, but legends of 
its past existence justify her gentle boasting. So, too, 
there are still with us those who have not only seen 
some nights of wild enthusiasm at the theatre, but 
have done their own extravagant best to add to their 
fervour. 

Well, to return to the subject. Those joyous, long- 
sustained receptions that had been so sweet to me, 
the artist in me suddenly realised would be simply 
ruinous in the case of Lady Macbeth. Just think of 
it. The play is already running at high tide, and at 
her very first step she is up to her lips in tragedy: 
" They met me in the day of success; and I have 
learned by the per feet est report they have more in 
them than mortal knowledge" she reads with eager 
intensity of interest as she enters. And there are but 
thirty-six brief words between that entrance and one 
of the greatest moments in the entire part: " They 



LADY MACBETH 43 

made themselves air into which they vanished!" 
How impossible, then, would be the recognition of a 
reception. B-r-r-r! one's teeth were on edge at the 
thought! And yet the public, it is sensitive — it is 
quick to take offence at times, and the actress who 
does not quail at the thought of vexing her public 
may exist, but certainly I. have not met her yet. 

So on that night I was bracing my courage up to 
the point of calmly ignoring the reception, that I 
knew would be not only a greeting but an assurance 
of a fair field and no favour, and their hearty good 
wishes for my success, and what would they think 
if their courtesy were not acknowledged even by a 
glance — I asked myself one moment, while in the 
next I was recalling a dozen proofs of the extraor- 
dinary quickness of perception shown by the Ameri- 
can public, and — and, well I resolved I must take 
the risk — anything rather than see Lady Macbeth 
smiling and bowing and perhaps kissing hands, and 
then trying to get back into the wrapt eagerness of 
the letter-reader. One other thing, a trifle, yet part 
of the whole, I decided to keep by me a great cir- 
cular cloak of grey material, to wrap about me in 
going before the curtain — for no actor or actress can 
be denied the honour of curtain calls, yet they do 
break the illusion of the play; and I meant to hide 
Lady Macbeth by at least the size and thickness of 
a cloak, and let Miss Morris go before the curtain, 
leaving the great Thane's wife in the play, if possible. 
I had done all I could then, so I took the gloves from 
under Bertie's chin, and as she sprang to the foot of 



44 THE LIFE OF A STAR 

the bed, looking over for that never forgotten bear, 
I raised my hand to lower the gas and heard the 
clock strike three, and suddenly I wondered whether 
Mr. Harriott had rounded up his family yet? 
" Bertie," I said, " suppose we were asked what 
family of Morris we belong to, do you know we 
would have to say, * if you please, we are not Morris 
at all — our characters are good, but we have no fam- 
ily, no family at all ! ' " 

Bertie looked as if she thought I had said " Rats ! " 
and I laughed. I could afford to because I had related 
to my suitor, with both emphasis and detail every 
disagreeable fact connected with my birth and early 
life. I had also warned him of certain unpleasant 
penalties a man might have to pay for marrying an 
actress. For myself, I was sure that if a man, I could 
never endure the impertinence of being referred to 
as Miss So-and-So's husband, and I inquired, too, 
as to the degree of violence he might be expected to 
show, if brutally addressed as Mr. Morris, by some 
hurried doctor, reporter or conductor? I think that 
suggestion gave him pause, for his smile had cer- 
tainly been a trifle forced, but I had done my duty; 
I had concealed nothing of the French-Canadian 
father's perfidy; my legal, social and dramatic status 
had been made quite plain — and, well, I laughed. 

Next morning, at ten-thirty, Mr. Harriott ap- 
peared, bearing messages, invitations and photo- 
graphs of a family whose dimensions made me gasp; 
and whose generous willingness to accept me on trust, 
as little boys say " sight unseen," brought a lump 



LADY MACBETH 45 

into my throat. And at eleven o'clock all ringed and 
engaged, I was rehearsing with consciously aug- 
mented dignity, the brave old tragedy. While on 
Monday evening, yet another incident occurred that 
helped so to interline the speeches of the play with 
courtship, proposal, acceptance and family recog- 
nition of the player, that it is almost impossible to 
unbraid the memories. 

There are few plays that can more quickly turn a 
medium-sized theatre into a veritable pandemonium 
than can" Macbeth." The noise and confusion caused 
by extra people ; the darkness, the extended brace for 
the tripping up of the unwary, the open traps for the 
swallowing up of the careless or the ignorant. The 
startling and disturbing appearance of the witches, 
the seeming frenzy of the stage manager, the helter- 
ing-skeltering of gasmen, carpenters and scene- 
shifters, the testing of the thunder and the lightning, 
the hasty and stumbling arrival of the musicians, who 
are to give the " flourishes " behind the scenes, and 
who swear volubly in foreign languages, thus escap- 
ing the forfeiture for all English swearing; the blue- 
burning cauldron; the snake entwined Hecate; the 
fiercely barbaric looking Thanes or warriors. If all 
this is confusing to an actor, what must it seem to an 
outsider, who sees behind the curtain for the first 
time? 

On that Monday night I had gone very early to 
my dressing-room, that I might not get flurried over 
some trivial thing and lose my hold upon my part; 
and with head like fire and hands like ice, I was 



46 THE LIFE OF A STAR 

looking in the glass and wondering miserably if any 
other Lady Macbeth ever had such modern-looking 
features — features that to my excited imagination 
flatly contradicted my perfectly correct woollen gown, 
my head drapery, my rolled scroll letter? "Oh, 
dear! " I moaned, contemplating my full length re- 
flection, " everything looks nice and Macbethy, except 
my face ! Oh, for a Greek, coin-like profile ! " and a 
knock came upon the door. 

" Is that for the overture? " I called. " All right, 
my lad, go ahead ! " 

But another knock sounded and the call-boy's 
voice replied: "It ain't me, mum, it's some gentle- 
men that wants you." 

And just as the property man tested his lightning 
flash, I flung open the door, to find standing there, 
very close together, two old gentlemen, whose 
bewildered, discomfited faces suggested at once a 
pair of ancient babes in the wood. For a moment 
we stood helplessly staring, then a powerful resem- 
blance told me who the sturdier, white-haired man 
must be, and I put forth my hands and drew the babes 
out of the hurly-burly into my room, that was by 
comparison an oasis of peace and sanity. And lo, 
with the closing of the door, the bewildered ones 
became instantly a pair of shrewd, clear-sighted old 
business men, who were forming swift conclusions 
as to the manner of woman, son and nephew Fred 
was rushing so suddenly into the family. Mr. War- 
ren Harriott (father) having been introduced, he 
in turn presented Mr. Frederick C. Havemeyer 






LADY MACBETH 47 

(uncle). They were beautiful old men. One sturdy, 
ruddy, white-haired and always in white neckwear. 
The other, lean, silver-haired, high featured, slightly 
formal, gentle-voiced — the sort of man whom you 
expect to wear the winged Gladstone collar and black 
satin stock. 

They informed me that they had made some mis- 
take for Fred was to have met them at the door to 
bring them in, but since they had found me, it was all 
right, and they would not detain me only long enough 
to make an explanation and ask a question. The 
family were out of town, and among the most 
anxious to greet me was Grandmother Havemeyer, 
but she was ninety-two years old and not quite strong 
enough to come to the city just now. Fred's mother 
and sisters did not wish to delay their visit, neither 
did they wish to disappoint the beloved grandmother. 
So could I — would I, in consideration of such great 
age — but I interrupted him to say, swiftly " Yes I 
could — and I would — on any day save Saturday, that 
might be agreeable to them." 

Then one pressed my hand and the other patted 
my shoulder, and both said: "You have a kind 
heart, my dear." And Mr. Havemeyer added: 
" When you have seen my mother you will not regret 
this waiving of ceremony, and your right to a first 
visit from our people, for her sake." 

And I being a passed master in the gentle art of 
mother worship, felt a strong desire to embrace then 
and there this newly met brother worshipper. I could 
not help noticing how Mr. Harriott's eyes kept turn- 



48 THE LIFE OF A STAR 

ing to my hair, as I thought with a slight frown, and 
suddenly I remarked : " This is not my hair, sir, it is 
a wig. I'm just a common, every day, brown in 
reality." 

And his hearty and relieved : " Well, I'm thankful 
to hear that, my child," set us off laughing, and 
laughter being the key that unlocks the shackles of 
formality and restraint, we were chatting away quite 
happily, when with a crash the overture burst forth. 
Instantly the bewildered anxious look came back to 
their faces and they drew close together again. 

" We ought to go," remarked Mr. Harriott, nerv- 
ously. 

" Yes," I frankly acquiesced, " but before we say 
good-bye, I will see you safely past these treacherous 
open traps. The stage is so dark for this act, you 
might meet with an accident." 

I opened the door to find Mr. Fred Harriott there, 
just raising his hand to knock. The joyful recogni- 
tion that flashed into those two old faces, the certainty 
that now they would be safely piloted out of that 
pandemonium, was both amusing and touching. They 
turned back to me a moment. Mr. Havemeyer with 
gentle-voiced formality offered his congratulations 
and good wishes, and Mr. Harriott bluntly remarked : 
" You're a good girl, and I'm glad to have you for a 
daughter," and bent his white head and kissed me 
right heartily. And that was how I came into pos- 
session of one of the dearest fathers in the world ! 
And while I was biting my lips hard and batting my 
eyelids rapidly to keep back tears, that might spoil 



LADY MACBETH 49 

my careful make-up, someone standing by the stage 
door, said excitedly as the three gentlemen passed out : 
" Why — why that was F. C. Havemeyer — w-what 
is he doing behind the scenes of a theatre? " The 
door man replied: " He came to see Miss Morris." 

" Oh, indeed — and F. C. Harriott is Havemeyer's 
nephew, isn't he — huh-uh! everything fair and 
friendly too, eh? " And next day approaching mar- 
riage notices broke out in various papers, and after 
that Mr. Harriott's family grew in importance and 
their genealogical tree reached upward higher and 
ever higher, until kings and emperors might have 
humbly sat beneath its towering boughs. And but for 
the nightly plaudits of the public, I might by com- 
parison have felt myself a very worm. For oh, joy! 
joy! Lady Macbeth had been accepted. Even the re- 
ception stumbling-block some stranger's hand had re- 
moved from my path. 

I had come upon the stage swiftly, scroll open, lips 
moving, eyes racing eagerly from line to line. The 
applause broke out. I stood and read. It increased in 
volume — my heart-beats choked me, but I read on. 
Would it go on forever? My knees trembled — my 
courage was failing me — the applause began to thin 
— the heart went out of it. I felt disapproval dis- 
tinctly — obstinacy only was keeping the reception up. 
I was just going to raise my eyes, when someone 
understood, and said clearly, loudly : " S-s-h — 
S-s-sh!" then swiftly added, " brava" and again 
"sh-sh ! " and like lightning the house caught the idea. 
There was a quick, sharp round of applause, approv- 



5 o THE LIFE OF A STAR 

ing, comprehending, then perfect silence fell, and in 
a voice choked by rapid breathing, I read: " They 
met me in the day of success** 

Another happy accident came to me later on. I 
could ill support the dragging weight of the royal 
robes, while the crown was so cruelly heavy that the 
pain from it became at last almost unbearable, while 
in the banquet scene the tense watchfulness, the swift 
changes rung upon the emotions, the royal dignity, 
queenly hospitality, the fine self-restraint and calm as- 
surance had all been in vain, when the woman's whole 
splendid line of defence had broken down under 
Macbeth* s second outburst of mad, all-revealing ter- 
ror, the player was physically as shattered, shaken, 
spent as was ever Lady Macbeth spiritually. It was 
in the momentary pause that followed the exit of all 
the guests that I realised in addition to the weight, 
the unpadded edge of the metal crown was actually 
cutting my brow. Lady Macbeth* s last line had been 
spoken, Macbeth had turned and walked with som- 
bre mien to the R. I. entrance, repeating his exit 
speech. As he reached the line : 

"... My strange and self abuse 
Is the initiate fear, that wants hard use:" 

the Queen unable to longer endure her suffering, 
raised both hands and lifted the crown up from her 
head and in the same instant, the King turning, noted 
the action with such a surprised frown, that quick as 
a flash the Queen dropped it to its place again and 



LADY MACBETH 51 

bravely smiled into his face; while both were startled 
by the swift-following applause of sympathetic com- 
prehension. He added his suggestive: 

" We are yet both young in deed!' 

and so made exit, and Lady Macbeth kept her forced 
smile till he was quite gone. Then it faded. Slowly 
she removed the crown and stood looking at it, cal- 
culating all its cost, until tears trickled down her wan 
cheeks, when hearing a sound outside she hastily re- 
sumed it, and with listless, hanging arms and droop- 
ing shoulders, feebly dragged her royal trappings, her 
misery and herself out of sight as the curtain fell. 
That had not been the " business " I had prepared, 
but it was better, as warm impromptu action is apt to 
be superior to coldly thought out effects; and I find 
that I, who almost never keep a clipping, have kept 
one criticism of that night's work, because of the ap- 
pearance in it of the quite unusual word " apoc- 
alypse." " At the fading of that bravely forced 
smile, the woman's face became a very apocalypse of 
woe, ,, it reads — where is Polonius, with his " mobled 
queen," would he say " apocalypse is good," or would 
he not? 

But while I agonised in silent dread of the great 
test — the sleep walking scene, Mrs. Farren came to 
me in hideous witch's garb, and put kind arms about 
me, and said : " My dear, God has blessed you with 
great originality. Stop torturing yourself like this. 
Trust to yourself, as the people out there trust to you 



52 THE LIFE OF A STAR 

— have confidence. For forty years I have believed 
utterly in the masculinity of Lady Macbeth, yet in 
three hours you have converted me to a belief in her 
femininity. Is that nothing then? — for my dear, 
Mary Ann Farren has been a power in her day ! " 

"And is still," I answered, honestly; and was 
grateful for her thought of me, and truly tried to 
follow her advice, and could not foresee the time 
when she would laughingly count my seventh call be- 
fore the curtain, for the same dreaded scene ; and dry 
the angry tears shed, because in the excitement a man, 
had clambered up on to the stage and triumphantly 
cut a piece from my beautiful white crepe draperies, 
to keep as a souvenir, a style of compliment that never 
recommended itself to my favour. 

About three weeks later and quite after the man- 
ner of actresses generally my marriage was hastily 
sandwiched in between two professional engagements. 
To avoid the annoyance of facing the crowd of curi- 
ous idlers who haunt church doors when a wedding 
threatens, I deceived even my maid and my landlady 
as to the hour appointed for the ceremony — for it 
had become evident that someone near me was giving 
out information with lavish generosity. So when the 
day came around, all brave in matlasee and silver-fox, 
with orange flower bouquet the groom's gift, accom- 
panied and supported by my whole family in the per- 
son of my mother, I arrived at noon before that Pres- 
byterian church (Fourth avenue and Twenty-third 
street), whose tenets I rejected, but whose eloquent 
pastor I greatly honoured, and entering its parlour 



LADY MACBETH 53 

received a joyous surprise. For enthroned in an arm- 
chair, the centre of an adoring group, grandmother 
Havemeyer with smiling lips and eager eyes sat wait- 
ing, and in a moment I was worshipping with the rest, 
while receiving her soft kisses and gentle blessing. 
And indeed she was the sweetest of ancient ladies. 
Her pretty white hair, her merry eye, the faint colour 
on cheek and lip, all made her look like a belated rose, 
and every one of her ninety-two years seemed to be 
represented by some separate grace or charm, or vir- 
tue, some fair thought or fairer deed. Her grandson 
Fred was her special and particular chum, and she 
had stoutly maintained he should not marry without 
her presence; and there she was. 

So a bit later the Reverend Howard Crosby, book 
in hand, began the marriage service, and I started 
out to attend devoutly to every tremendously import- 
ant word of it; when the strangely wrinkled condition 
of one side of Dr. Crosby's robe aroused an intense 
curiosity as to why one side and not the other should 
be so deeply creased; while faintly through all that 
worked the hope that the ring might not fall and 
roll under the seats. It would be so embarrassing 
for whoever had to seek for it. "Eh? 'yes,' and 
again, 'yes/ — and lo, I was Mrs. Harriott. And I 
had married not only my husband but his whole fam- 
ily. I — who had never had sisters, or brothers, had 
them now galore! the dearest, the best, with father 
and adorable second mother for good measure. 

But now that the superstitious may not be deprived 
of their dues, let me say that Mr. Harriott having 



54 THE LIFE OF A STAR 

begun his wrong-doing in luck, by proposing on Fri- 
day, continued in his evil course by adding to his 
wedding gift of diamonds a fine opal, and finally 
reached his apogee of bad luck by clasping said opal 
about my throat for the actual service. I may add we 
were married on a Monday — second worst day of 
the week; on the last of November — worst month of 
the year. As we left the church the crowd was al- 
ready beginning to gather, for the wedding that had 
been announced for 3 P. m. I was laughing hap- 
pily over our escape, when I saw a look of annoyance 
coming into my lord's face and our speed slackened 
strangely, and oh, well, the driver had got himself all 
tangled up in a great funeral! Oh, no, I'm not 
through yet — for at the very moment we had stood 
before the minister, another uncle, Mr. Havemeyer, 
then Mayor of New York, whose note of excuse and 
explanation grandmother was holding in her hand, 
had fallen dead from his chair, and by some odd coin- 
cidence had been caught in the arms of a man bearing 
the name of Morris. 

There! there are omens enough to swamp half a 
dozen marriages! Yet, dear me, that was in 1874, 
and this is — good gracious 1906! And though the 
dear family I married is pitifully shrunken and small 
now, the husband, superstition to the contrary not- 
withstanding, big and ruddy and as English looking 
as if he had just left the Shires, is sitting not far off, 
and not the sign of a divorce decree to be found in 
this house. What's the use of respecting omens after 
that ! 



IV 

THE MOXA 

A MONG my friends there was one who was 
L\ particularly bitter against the press, because 
X JLit had so little consideration for the privacy 
of the individual. She denounced the tittle-tattle, the 
continued gossiping about the doings of those men 
and women who in one way or another had come 
into the eye of the public, and was quite specially 
severe upon those persons who heedlessly gave in- 
formation to the " meddlesome Matties," that being 
her picturesque tribal name for all newspaper re- 
porters, interviewers, etc. Yet it was owing solely to 
her own personal indiscretion that the following let- 
ter reached the newspapers, and through them my 
private affliction became public property. A letter so 
swiftly, so widely copied, that I actually met it face 
to face in a French paper before I had started for 
home. 

Wounded, mortified, and hotly angry was I, over 
the breach of confidence, until upon my arrival here 
I met that wondrous wave of sympathy that, starting 
afar off from the great cities, tangled in the white 
fringe of the Pacific, had in its onward sweep reached 
out both North and South, ever gathering pity and 
sorrow, kindly thoughts and many prayers in its 
swell; a wave that broke about me heart high, wash- 
ing away all anger and humiliation and leaving only 
profound gratitude and a great wonder that the 

55 



56 THE LIFE OF A STAR 

public should not only heed but sympathise with the 
pain of one of the least of its servants. 

But oh, what a crop of piteous letters was gathered 
into my letter-box directly after my return from 
Paris ! — so many, many poor sufferers in varying de- 
grees from spinal trouble wrote to me eagerly asking 
if the moxa cured? If it had cured me? And would 
I advise others to submit to the treatment? And oh! 
poor souls! I had to confess I had apparently suf- 
fered in vain. 

Physicians here at home declared the details of the 
operation were barbaric and outrageous; that the 
needless strain of waiting, the sound of the furnace, 
the preparatory marking of the spine with a pencil, 
were cruel, unnecessary, and I almost believe, but for 
three disinterested witnesses, they would have added 
incredible. 

Even the preliminary examinations seemed to me 
to be theatrical and designed to impress and awe me 
— each of the doctors with his paper and his pencil 
solemnly making his little notes. Could I stand this 
way? Could I bend that way? Could I walk a 
straight line with my eyes open? 

" But, good sir," I remonstrated, "I am a tee- 
totaller!" 

They went on, they measured off so many feet on 
the floor, and marked each end of the distance with a 
chair. They bandaged my eyes tight and, quite un- 
necessarily, drew down the shades also before placing 
me at one chair and bidding me try to walk blind- 
folded to the other. 



THE MOXA 57 

"Ah!" I remarked, "your blindmanVbuff is a 
rather staid and melancholy game. I prefer the Eng- 
lish version. " As they gravely measured how far I 
was away from the chair I had aimed at, I hopefully 
suggested a change to " puss in the corner." 

Dr. Belvin, an American by birth, strove desper- 
ately not to laugh, for Professor Ball, who was his 
superior, looked upon mirth as the sure sign of an 
empty mind. Then, with a weighty and momentous 
manner, the hawk-faced professor began sticking 
needles into the calves of my unfortunate legs, while, 
quite in the style of the Inquisition, Dr. Belvin behind 
me took down this conversation: 

"Do you feel these punctures?" (Being alive, yes.) 
"Are they painful?" (Naturally.) "How many needles 
am I using?" My eyes were bandaged still. (One.) 
" Now, how many? " (Two.) " Now, how many? " (I — 
I can't tell.) "Now, how many?" (The whole paper, I 
think! Sharp's make; mixed sizes!) "Madame jests — 
make a note, monsieur. That is certainly of the unusual — 
since madame undoubtedly suffers. The other leg, now. 
Ah! that is, eh?" (Yes, professor, "that is," as you say. 
Most decidedly these prickings are harder to bear. Two — 
three — I think five — gracious! I wish you'd permit me to 
offer you a cushion for your needles.) 

The bandage being removed — to my great relief 
— I was about to retire my indignant and smarting 
calves to the protecting shelter of the lacy white pet- 
ticoat of the period, when the scientific hawk swooped 
down upon my foot — nay, my feet; and his plucking 



58 THE LIFE OF A STAR 

off of my shoes made me think of the hungry dis- 
membering of prey. Exaggerated? Very likely, but 
that was the fancy of the sorely tried and secretly 
frightened woman, whose black silk heels were 
planted upon his knees, with soles facing him like a 
pair of medium sized flat-irons; and I watched with 
grave curiosity while the professor, with long, bony 
fingers, strove to tickle — yes, tickle — those immov- 
able, irresponsive black soles of mine. He gazed at 
me menacingly, with ever growing excitement, as his 
nails vainly scratched up and down, criss-cross, while 
I regarded his efforts with the half-amused, large 
patience of a mother who sees her child planting pen- 
nies in the flower-pot in the hope of raising little 
pocket-book plants from them. Suddenly he sprang 
up. "You — you laugh not? You have not even to 
squirm ? You, who are one bundle of nerves — broken, 
sick nerves at that — yet you have the feet nerveless ! 
of the marble! You are extraordinaire, madame! 
You have made the note, mon confrere? the feet not 
to be tickle — eh? you have him? Bien! A-a-ah! " he 
shook his ten fingers furiously at me. " A-a-ah ! you 
are an extraordinary woman — bien, oui ! " 

" Mais, non ! " I objected " It is you, monsieur, 
who are extraordinary. You do not consider that I 
am a stranger to your ways. You should give me 
time. In America, now, a gentleman never thinks of 
tickling the feet of a lady who calls upon him for 
advice. Would not even if the call were purely so- 
cial. He entertains her with conversation, pays her 
compliments that tickle her fancy or her pride, pos- 



THE MOXA 59 

sibly — but he respects her soles. Dr. Belvin, you don't 
seem well? But you can, I think, as an American, 
bear me out in my assertion, and perhaps you will 
also return my shoes; I should greatly dislike going 
down to the carriage in my stocking feet." 

And while the big Kentuckian, shaking with 
laughter, replaced my shoes, I shook with sick terror 
of the decision I was presently to listen to. My non- 
sense was not meant for flippancy — but laughter was 
my only shield, a jest my only weapon of defence, and 
the greater my pain and fright and need, the more 
recklessly I used them. Then I heard my fate : " The 
iron — or " 

" Well," I asked, " or what? " and they added: 

" A year — perhaps a year and a half of time, 
and " 

So that night was a night of terror — because of an 
active and excited imagination. My husband and my 
mother were on the other side of that great ocean 
that widens so terribly between hearts at need, and 
troubles always loom gigantic at night, and the deci- 
sion rested wholly with me. " Oh," I whispered over 
and over, " if it were not my back! If only I could 
see for myself what was to be done ! But how helpless 
I shall feel, knowing they are exchanging nods and 
signs behind me, and — No, I will not take ether or 
chloroform ! " I cried aloud. " If I die, I will at least 
die consciously ! " And with a start I found that I 
had then resolved to endure the new and, to me, re- 
volting treatment by burning — called the moxa. And 
being decided, I had but one conscious thought — to 



/ 



60 THE LIFE OF A STAR 

hurry, to get the thing done, lest my courage fail! 
To get it done, that the strained anxiety in the eyes 
of my friends might give place to relief, perhaps to 
satisfaction. This letter, to the indiscreet one, will 
speak for their sympathy and distress : 

ii rue de la Bienfaisance, 
Paris, August 12th, 1875. 

My dear : I hasten to write you, as I am well able 

under the circumstances, of the terrible trial to which our 
dear little friend has been subjected. As Prof. Ball con- 
curred in the opinion given by Dr. Belvin that the disease 
of the spine would, if not arrested, terminate fatally within 
two years, she determined to submit to the treatment that 
it makes me shudder to think of. She said: " Only let me 
have it over — don't let me think of it ! " And last Tuesday 
we drove to the doctor's rooms, No. 51 rue de la Luxem- 
bourg. She was very pale, probably though not more so than 
usual, but I could not but notice that the nostrils were 
dilated and the mouth more firmly set than usual. She con- 
versed less than common and in fits and starts, and, strange 
to say, of the most trivial things we saw upon our way. 
Arriving at Dr. Belvin's we were annoyed at not finding 
Prof. Ball there, and had to wait for him nearly an hour; 
all the while our poor friend sat, with her hands clasped 
between her knees, saying at intervals: " If they keep me 
waiting, I shall fail — I know I shall fail ! " 

At last the professor was announced, and then fifteen 
more minutes were given to preparations in an adjoining 
room. Clara had stipulated that she should not see the fur- 
nace nor the irons, and it cost the two physicians some 
trouble and labour to comply with her wishes. We were at 
last summoned to enter, and nothing was visible but the 
low chair in which the victim was to sit, and the two 
operators. Dr. Belvin is a man over thirty-five, with a clear 



THE MOXA 6 1 

blue eye, blond head, and a rather kind expression of face. 
Prof. Ball is about sixty, with a prominent hooked nose, 
small grey eyes, and of less than medium height. It may 
have been the circumstances, but he looked to me the beau 
ideal of an Inquisitor of the Spanish Inquisition — well de- 
serving the title given him in Paris among medical men of 
" The Butcher," on account of his terrible and frequent 
operations. 

Poor Clara was required to sit in a low chair, with her 
back bared, and she went through the preparations quietly 
enough, but with her face pale and rigid as marble. The 
only evidence beyond this was the pitiful trembling of her 
poor little hands. She spoke calmly, however, requesting me 
to hold her head, not her hands, and as she sat looking up 
at me as if to read in my face what was going on behind her, 
I believe I suffered the more of the two. 

Then Dr. Belvin lit his furnace, and the roaring of the 
flame that was to heat the irons to a white heat in a few 
seconds, was dreadful to hear; and while this was going on 
Prof. Ball marked with a pencil the line the iron was to 
follow on either side of the spine. Every touch of the pencil 
sent a thrill through the delicate frame of the poor victim; 
but the professor had scarcely ended making the penciled 
marks when with a flash the iron was applied. The white 
point seemed to sink an inch into the quivering form, with 
that sickening sound of burning flesh — but beyond a writh- 
ing of the body, accompanied by deep, heavy breathing, 
there was no response, not a shriek, not a sigh nor groan. 
The doctor had nearly completed his dreadful task when 
Clara, suddenly starting up, cried out in a voice that even 
moved Prof. Ball : " My God ! I cannot — I cannot bear 
it!" 

It was all over, however, and, do you know, she helped 
replace her clothes, after the wounds were dressed, and 
walked down to the carriage. The doctor said it was a 



62 THE LIFE OF A STAR 

wonderful exhibition of nerve. She is quite prostrated to-day 
and suffers from violent pains in her head. The doctor says 
it is all right, and she will be up and well soon, but to us 
she seems alarmingly weak. I forgot to say that she was 
urged to have the operation performed while under chloro- 
form, but positively refused. 

Since writing the above we have learned that Dr, Fordyce 
Barker, of New York, is here in Paris, and we are going to 
call him in, in consultation with Prof. Ball and Dr. Belvin. 
I will write you further. 

Ah ! Well it was for me that Dr. Barker came upon 
the scene, for, in spite of my diminishing strength 
and ever lessening vitality, the Paris doctors insisted 
upon repeating the trying operation, and as I was no 
longer strong enough to go to them, they volunteered 
to come to me at the hotel. The hour was set and 
the day had arrived before Colonel Piatt, who was 
the acting guardian and guide of his wife, his sister 
and myself, had succeeded in his almost frantic search 
for Dr. Barker. By galloping the life nearly out of a 
poor cab horse, he managed to get him to the hotel 
a scant ten minutes ahead of the arrival of Messrs. 
Belvin and Ball. Only ten minutes, but long enough 
for him to swiftly examine the patient, his sorely 
broken countrywoman ; for surprise to become amaze- 
ment and amazement indignation — long enough to 
reach a stern decision. He gently laid my thin waxy 
hand down upon my knee and said : " We'll have no 
operation to-day, my child. You are afraid there may 
be trouble? Well, don't you worry, that's all. You 
have worried too much already. There's been an aw- 



THE MOXA 63 

ful mistake here, but it's going no further, please 
God! Trouble, eh? Well, I'll take that trouble on 
my shoulders. Oh! how do you do, gentlemen? " for 
the two doctors, carrying all the demnition para- 
phernalia of the modern Inquisition with them, en- 
tered and stood amazed at the presence of the big, 
handsome man, with the big, cordial manner and no 
voice to speak of. Then, as Dr. Barker was recog- 
nised professionally, both in London and Paris, as a 
very, very great gun of the heaviest calibre, and 
socially as the very fine flower of good fellowship, 
they greeted him with extravagant demonstrations 
of regard. When Colonel Piatt asked them to receive 
the doctor in consultation they exchanged glances and 
answered that as soon as the moxa had been applied 
they would gladly consult with him. 

And right there the snag that was to prevent fur- 
ther smooth sailing revealed itself to all, when Dr. 
Barker demanded immediate consultation and im- 
periously removed me from the scene by the simple 
expedient of picking me up and carrying me into the 
next room. " Wait here," he said; " I may want you 
for just a moment — but have no fear; there is to be 
no moxa to-day, nor to-morrow either! " and, smil- 
ing his kind smile, he went back — and then, oh, dear ! 
very soon the voices rose excitedly. 

Suddenly the door opened. " Gentlemen ! " cried 
Dr. Barker, entering; "come here one moment, 
please ! " They followed him in, one sullen, the other 
red and snappy. My champion came to me, raised 
me to my feet, and, leading me to the wide open 



64 THE LIFE OF A STAR 

window, drew back the curtain and let the full blaz- 
ing light in upon me. " Look," he said, and he held 
up my hand to the light, which showed through it, as 
lamplight shows through the hand — only, alas ! with- 
out the pinky hue. He touched my lips with his fin- 
ger. u You see, gentlemen, they are as pale as her 
cheeks. But, see this! " he exclaimed angrily, and he 
lifted my lip to show the poor pale gums within. 
" There's not as much blood in her body as many a 
fish carries. Her pulse is a thread, her nerves are 
visibly a-quiver; she is taking no food other than a 
little milk or less broth; she has failed rapidly in 
strength since the first application of the iron. You 
have yourselves just told me of her immense exertion 
of will power, of nerve force, to endure that trial. 
Where do you expect her to find that power to-day? 
— tell me that ! I believe in the moxa; I believe in it 
even for her — when she is prepared to endure it. 
Rest her — feed her — give her some strength, some 
blood, before you venture another tremendous shock 
to her nerves ! " 

" But," insisted Professor Ball, " our judgment is 
for the continuation of the moxa at once. Our prep- 
arations are complete and we will proceed. You shall 
see our success when " 

"You shall not proceed, monsieur! " interrupted 
Dr. Barker. " Colonel Piatt, take the little woman 
to her room, or — oh, excuse me, we will retire ! " 

They withdrew, but the door was left partly open, 
and oh, St. Patrick's day in the mornin' ! As the ar- 
gument there developed into a really respectable row, 



THE MOXA 65 

Colonel Piatt said my cheeks flushed and light came 
back into my eyes, for you know one man against two 
is an inspiriting sight, and my doctor, who was dog- 
gedly determined, never lost his dignity — scarcely his 
temper, until in an outburst of rage, broken English 
and pure French combined, Professor Ball furiously 
ordered Dr. Belvin to light the furnace and at the 
same time himself advanced toward the room where 
I sat. 

" Stop ! " commanded Dr. Barker. " Courtesy 
seems wasted here — etiquette ignored! Don't you 
light that, doctor! I am an American — but I know 
Paris well ! I know my rights perfectly ! Our consul, 
our — oh, curse it, man, light that furnace and I'll 
throw you both over the balcony ! " 

" St. Patrick was a gentleman ! " I softly hummed, 
for, you see, I profited whatever happened. If they 
failed to light up — I wouldn't be ironed that day. If 
they did light up — there'd be broken bones down 
there on the pavement, for Fordyce Barker was big 
enough to back a threat with action, and I — really, 
one believes in heredity after all. For my forbears, 
on the purely American side of me, though they gave 
no orders but obeyed them instead, died in their 
tracks wearing the ragged uniform of their country 
— just common men, of course, who, having nothing 
else to offer, gave their lives and had for reward so 
fierce a fight against odds, that it must be some far 
faint tang of its joy that thrills my poor nerves to 
delight whenever a man has his back to the wall — 
whenever hands are put up in a fair fight. 



66 THE LIFE OF A STAR 

So, though he declared the scene simply outra- 
geous and was visibly vexed at his own loss of self- 
control, Dr. Barker won. The other doctors retired, 
their properties with them, and I saw them no more. 
Dr. Fordyce Barker continued upon the journey he 
had delayed in the name of his life-long friendship 
for Colonel Piatt — and I, having followed his advice 
piously, was able to return home in September, from 
the first, the last, the only journey that since my mar- 
riage I have made without my husband. 

I returned to find the evil prophecies of some 
Cassandra-like friends disproved utterly, completely. 
They had declared piteously, angrily, warningly, ac- 
cording to their individual temperament, that I was 
quite mad to think of marriage ; that the public would 
have no further interest in me or my work. My orig- 
inal, first of all manager, Mr. Ellsler, wrote me that 
I would never see another full house of my drawing 
if I presented myself to the public as a married 
woman. Had I chosen an actor husband, then as Mr. 
and Mrs. So-and-so, we might, like Mr. and Mrs. 
Florence or Mr. and Mrs. Conway, slowly and pain- 
fully have attained to a doubtful popularity — but at 
the very beginning of a brilliant career to marry a 
man in private life would amount to professional self- 
effacement; he advised me to wait a few years. I re- 
called the fact that he had advised a ten years' wait 
before venturing into New York. 

The remembrance of my engagements to appear 
that season at both of his theatres doubtless gave a 
certain edge to his very genuine fears, for no man 



THE MOXA 67 

looks forward pleasantly to possible bad business, and 
though I argued patiently and smilingly, with all my 
croaking friends, insisting that an audience cared 
nothing for the woman behind the artiste; that I had 
never — to use the slang term — " travelled on my 
beauty"; that, anyway, the young unmarried male 
creature was but one of the component parts of the 
great public; that there were not only women but 
hundreds of men who admired the actress for the il- 
lusion she created, who studied her methods and 
praised or blamed without one thought of the desira- 
bility of the woman — all repeated over and over with 
unshakable, though entirely superficial amiability, for 
down in my heart there was hot anger, yes, and deep 
humiliation, too. This new and unpleasant view of 
the profession I honoured with all my heart offended 
me deeply. And though it might be the true one, I 
stoutly told myself that the popularity that could be 
destroyed by an honest marriage was a dubious thing 
well rid of, while all the time the ache of tears was 
in my throat at the prospect of such a loss. 

So when, going straight from the altar, as I might 
say, to the stage in Pittsburg, I faced a packed au- 
dience whose reception rose from applause to cheers, 
I could have gone upon my knees in humble apology 
for the bitter thoughts and fears I had entertained. 
Yet my friend, doubting Thomas, gravely asserted 
that that was merely the greeting to a bride, that the 
enthusiasm was probably only momentary. But I 
laughed happily in his gloomy face and left him at 
last with full coffers at both theatres. And thus all 



68 THE LIFE OF A STAR 

the engagements made for the unmarried actress, the 
married one had filled successfully, triumphantly. So 
that, in spite of broken health, managers considered 
me a very strong dramatic card — yet it required the 
moxa to teach me that the public had a heart. One 
stranger wrote : " The iron that burned your flesh 
made thousands writhe. The pallor of your face was 
reflected on the faces of men as well as women, as they 
read." Another, from halfway across the continent, 
wrote : " No man who ever saw you in * Alixe ' or 
* Camille ' would hesitate at going under the iron for 
you. The sweat runs down my face when I think of 
you having to endure such pain. If we could suffer 
vicariously for you an army would dispute for the 
privilege." But, most touching of all, a little boy 
wrote : " I saw you once in a play. In it they said you 
was not a very good woman, but I know you was and 
I'm only a little boy, but I wish I could be burned 
lots of times to make you better." 

And so, from press and private letter, from North 
and South, from East and West, came the sweet as- 
surance that the great many-headed public, with its 
alert ears and its jewelled eyes uncountable, its many 
hands, strong alike to build up or tear down, had a 
heart warm, tender, and opened to me in my sore 
suffering and distress. And it was this thrilling con- 
tact with the people's heart that gave back to me my 
queer nervous strength and my joy in work, with a 
too passionate desire to serve, unstintedly to serve, 
the public that had not cast me forth into outer dark- 
ness because I had married. 



RIDDLE OF THE NINETEENTH CEN- 
TURY : MR. HENRY BERGH 

" Riddle me this — and guess him if you can." 

— Dryden. 

I SUPPOSE no great effort has ever been made 
for the improvement of conditions, for the ad- 
vancement of the human race, that has not been 
met with bitter opposition, ridicule, and abuse from 
the people at large; but when the heroic reformer 
with a spark of Christ-like patience says: " Forgive 
them, Father, they know not what they do," and 
holding steadily, unswervingly to his course, reaches 
the goal, and, though weary and exhausted, estab- 
lishes firmly the new and better condition of affairs, 
the people are apt to accept the benefits accruing, as a 
mere matter of course, and give no thought to the 
price paid by the reformer for his success. 

To-day the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty 
to Animals is a recognised power for good through- 
out the land. The most prominent, the most power- 
ful men, the most gracious and influential women are 
proud to serve it; while the bright-eyed, observant 
babies of the entire country are its eager little agents 
and flying messengers. 

It has offices everywhere, paid officials, agents, 
lawyers, doctors, workmen, ambulances, shelters, 

6 9 



70 THE LIFE OF A STAR 

machinery for rescue, and the merciful lifting and 
lowering of fallen beasts of burden. To-day all such 
work is done before approving and admiring eyes, but 
once it was a different story. For this society came 
into existence amid a very storm of disapprobation, 
with rumbling jeers and imprecations from the vul- 
gar and debased, flashing with the sarcastic and ma- 
licious mockeries of the thoughtlessly indifferent. In- 
famous cruelty stalked rampant through the city. The 
brutalities familiarly witnessed on every hand were 
coarsening the fibre and hardening the hearts of the 
people, and thus lowering their spiritual standard. 
For so closely interwoven are the interests of man — 
made in God's image — and the gentle dumb creatures 
given to his service and his care, that cruelty and 
brutality to the patient beast of burden result in the 
debasing of the guilty man himself. Therefore this 
Society, in constituting itself the defence of the de- 
fenceless, truly served man as well as beast, in teach- 
ing him to control if not to conquer his savage in- 
stincts — his senseless furies. 

In that splendid library, the Bible, one reads : " A 
grain of mustard-seed, which a man took and cast 
into his garden, and it grew and waxed a great tree." 
Yes, verily this Society has grown and waxed ; it has 
become a great tree. One cannot imagine any storm 
uprooting or overturning it now. But how many of 
those who find rest and shelter beneath its giant 
branches give a thought to the man who cast the 
mustard-seed into his garden; who watched for the 
first slim lance of green thrust upward from the earth ; 



MR. HENRY BERGH 71 

who nursed, tended, sheltered, and defended its slow, 
weak growth, who cultivated it with bleeding fingers, 
and watered it with his tears? How many give a 
thought to-day to the founder of this Society, so 
thoroughly approved by all classes? 

I suppose everyone knows that Mr. Henry Bergh 
cast the mustard-seed into the garden, but how many 
people know anything of the personality of the 
man ? How many know the moving cause of his great 
undertaking? How many, indeed! Better ask, does 
anyone know what moved him to enter the lists as 
sole defender of suffering animals; I shall wait long, 
I fancy, for my answer, for truly the man was a 
riddle, so let us guess him if we can. 

Somewhere about 1605 or 1607 there was born 
into the world, through the brain of the Spanish 
soldier-poet Cervantes, the famous Don Quixote, that 
belated knight-errant who should have lived a hun- 
dred years before, and whose grotesque tilts and ludi- 
crous encounters, in defending the oppressed and 
avenging imaginary wrongs, have sent laughter ring- 
ing through palace, camp, and home alike for nearly 
three hundred years. Laughter that is half denied 
by the sympathetic moisture of the eye ; for this poor, 
transposed knight-errant is a very grave and hon- 
ourable gentleman, trusted by his friends and loved 
by his dependents ; and the purity of his motives lends 
to his utter inability to see things as they really are 
so distinct a touch of pathos that Sancho Panza is 
really needed to tip the balance to the comic side. 

Who has not seen, who cannot recall the picture of 



72 THE LIFE OF A STAR 

the Don — tall, gaunt, grave, hollow-eyed, and scant 
of hair, in ancient and imperfect armour, sitting 
astride bony Rosinante, and ready bravely to charge 
upon the windmill, — the humble and protesting 
Sancho Panza, broad as he is long, looking on from 
the back of the donkey, whose wisdom seems greater 
than that of both the men combined? Now this Don 
Quixote was a friend of my childhood. I used to walk 
at his side in fancy, and wonder quite piteously why 
he could not see what a dreadful mistake he was about 
to make — I being a very practical young person in- 
deed, this dear, blundering, high-flown old Spanish 
gentleman of gallant spirit was a great care to me, 
and therefore, small woman that I was, I loved him 
much, and I — well, I think I care a great deal for the 
old Don yet. 

One day, then, when I had been so long married 
that not more than two or three repetitions of my 
new last name were required to attract my surprised 
attention, my cockney parlour-maid, whose face 
flushed and whose tongue thickened curiously every 
afternoon, brought to me a card that startled me 
into reading aloud the name of " Mr. Henry Bergh." 

" 'Eavens ! " cried the flushed Abigail, " I 'ope our 
'Ennery hasn't done nothink to the 'osses ! But 'e's an 
'ard man, 's our 'Ennery, ma'am." And with a man- 
ner flatly contradicting her expressed hope, delight- 
edly anticipating an immediate arrest, she proceeded 
to " show the gentleman up." 

Advancing to greet my caller, I stopped short. I 
held the card of Henry Bergh, but I saw the tall, 



MR. HENRY BERGH 73 

gaunt form, the grave dignity of bearing, the hollow 
cheeks, the austere mouth, the piled-up brow — full 
two stories high — and the gentle eyes, sad to melan- 
choly, of Cervantes' Don Quixote ! I heard my own 
voice say low, " An incarnation." 

He paused in his grave obeisance, sensitive as mir- 
ror to a breath, and said, inquiringly, " I remind you 
of someone, then? " 

And, my jesting devil being ever at my elbow, I 
swiftly answered, " Yes, you remind me of a friend, 
dear and valued, a certain country gentleman from 
la Mancha." 

At first he listened blankly, but at the word la 
Mancha pained recognition sprang into his eyes, and 
a slow, dull colour crept into the hollow of his 
cheeks. Terrified by what I had done, I rushed on: 
" But you are a Don Quixote whose courage and 
enthusiasm are not wasted upon windmills. You have 
the happiness of really defending the oppressed and 
avenging the cruelly wronged, instead of only dream- 
ing of it." And, absolute sincerity being easily recog- 
nised, he took my offered hand, and we were at 
peace. 

" Ah," he said, " you take a kinder and more 
gracious view of my resemblance to the absurd old 
Don than do the caricaturists of our papers." 

And I laughed back: " My good sir, do you really 
imagine the millennium has begun, that you expect a 
jest without malice, sarcasm without venom, the light, 
swift stroke of a keen rapier from the fist that only 
knows how to wield a bludgeon? " 



74 THE LIFE OF A STAR 

From the last word he shrank uncomfortably, say- 
ing: " He wished the ' bludgeon ' of the caricaturist 
were the only one in active use in the city " ; but when 
he gravely and carefully explained to me that " he 
was not a millennialist, could not, in fact, comprehend 
that peculiar form of belief," I understood that a 
sense of the ludicrous would never endanger his life 
through excessive laughter. 

I was a hero-worshipper from away back and to 
my mind this man, who was making such a fine fight 
for the helpless, was a hero. Therefore I was filled 
with a sort of reverent curiosity, and both eyes and 
ears were set wide open for the catching of any scrap 
of information anent the " why " and " how " of 
that fight; and behold, the first item I obtained was, 
that Mr. Bergh would talk of almost anything under 
heaven — admitting a strong preference for the 
theatre — save and except Mr. Bergh. 

That being the case, I carefully hoarded every 
casual remark, every stately compliment, every criti- 
cal comment, every small confidence, every expressed 
hope of his, while my eager eyes were photographing 
features, poses, gestures, expressions, even half ex- 
pressions. And now adding to these memories two 
or three anecdotes from one who knew and loved him 
well, I have my sole material for building up that 
trusted, honoured, ridiculed, hated, and abused bun- 
dle of contradictions known as Henry Bergh. 

To begin with, he was by birth and breeding a 
gentleman, and that rare creature, an exceptionally 
tall man who, calmly unconscious of his height, moves 






MR. HENRY BERGH 75 

with natural ease. A well-dressed man, too, showing 
a quiet, unostentatious taste in colour and ornament, 
but such careful attention to good fitting and the small 
details of costume as made him seem especially well 
dressed. In his manner of grave and gentle dignity 
he could not have been excelled by any Spanish Don 
— the most courtly of men. His voice was gentle and 
low ; his face, Quixote's face, long, pale, often immov- 
able as a graven image, the piled-up brow crossed by 
a sort of dividing line ; his eyes light, clear blue, and 
sad, while his brows had a trick of slowly lifting, now 
and then, that gave an inexpressible weariness to the 
face. Refined, intellectual, and cold, that was what 
he looked; and to myself I said, how deceptive must 
be the human face, for we are apt to associate self- 
sacrifice, generous devotion to another's welfare, with 
a certain warmth of heart, even of manner and ex- 
pression, just as we associate a round, smiling face 
with good-humour, and more or less unconsciously 
we are given to the habit of judging others by our- 
selves. 

Now, my love for animals is a veritable passion — 
crank and monomaniac are terms oft heard behind 
my back. Not merely is my love for my horse or my 
dog, but for everybody's horse or anybody's dog. 
My heart is a sort of Noah's ark where every con- 
ceivable four-footed thing is welcome with his mate. 
This must be true, else why does the lost dog spy me 
out in even a Broadway crowd, and ask me sobbing 
questions as to his missing friends and future fate? 
Why does the shamed, mangy cur creep forth to rub 



76 THE LIFE OF A STAR 

himself against my best gown, when he would not 
dare approach within a quarter of a mile of any other 
woman's gown? Therefore I said, in my wisdom, 
how great must be the love of Mr. Bergh for ani- 
mals! I pictured him as the owner of satin-coated 
horses, well-cared-for cattle, and with dogs galore, 
watching eagerly for his recognition and kind caress. 

Then Mr. Bergh, making a second call, came upon 
me at the close of a romp with my two small canine 
idols. That he did not notice their extreme rarity and 
beauty surprised me somewhat, but when the largest 
— a three-pounder in weight — sprang upon the sofa, 
and laid a small, inquiring paw upon his knee, the 
man's whole body shrank away, and unmistakable 
repulsion showed in every feature. 

Swiftly recalling that this man was striving earn- 
estly to establish drinking places through the city for 
the heat-tortured dogs of the streets, I thought, " Oh, 
maybe, like many other men, he simply dislikes toys." 
So, catching the little beast up in my arms, I said, 
" You don't like him. Is it, then, because he is so 
small?" 

" No, no," he nervously replied, " it's not that, not 
its size at all, but I — / don't like dogs, Miss 
Morris! " 

Dumb with amazement, I stared a moment, then 
grabbed the other monster from her cushion, and 
carrying both to the next room, left them there, say- 
ing to myself the while, " Riddle me this, and guess 
him if you can." And let me say right here, that one 
who knew Mr. Bergh years to my days, who saw his 



MR. HENRY BERGH 77 

sacrifices, saw his sufferings borne in heroic defence 
of horses, tells me that never in his life did he see 
Mr. Bergh lay his hand upon a horse, in caress how- 
ever slight; never saw him come to closer touch than 
by the taking hold of a bridle. 

It is hard for the people of to-day to realise to 
what lengths the people of that day went in their 
furious opposition to the Bergh Crusade; and, strange 
as it may seem, the better classes were as bitterly in- 
tolerant as were the vindictive and cruel lower classes. 
Jeers, maledictions, threats of personal violence, of 
appeals to law, insults both veiled and open, he bore 
calmly, steadily, without outward sign of suffering 
or resentment; but there was another weapon turned 
against him, one difficult to parry, whose wound be- 
ing poisoned rankles long — that weapon was ridicule. 

Oh, small wonder that the poor French king 
cowered before the lampoon's cruel mockery; for 
just as trained soldiers, blood-drunk and in full fight- 
ing frenzy, will halt before the cold steel of fixed 
bayonets, waver and break, so will even ordinary 
men waver before derision. And this man, sagacious, 
sober, sound, was sensitive as any girl to mockery. 
The jibes, the jeers, the satire that made of him a 
laughing-stock were very hard to bear. Long after 
the power of the decent press was at his back in full 
strength, a snapping, snarling crowd of lesser publi- 
cations pursued him with ribald jest and coarse lam- 
poon, while at theatres he was often alluded to in the 
most farcical and grotesque way. 

To show you how deeply it wounds a brave man 



78 THE LIFE OF A STAR 

to be made the butt of a city's ridicule, let me, with 
reverent hand, draw back the curtain upon the pic- 
ture of the private den of Mr. Bergh, where, with 
head bowed upon his bent arm in boy fashion, he 
sheds the slow, blistering tears of disappointed man- 
hood, strained almost to the breaking-point — almost, 
but not quite, thank God ! for he rose to go forth to 
his first triumph, to win a first sign of approval from 
the people who, through misunderstanding, detested 
him. 

It was winter — the snow, generously sprinkled 
with sooty blacks, had suggested a city in half mourn- 
ing. At some street corners the soiled, mud-stained 
mass had been heaped in banks. With insolent dis- 
regard of the law, salt had been lavishly used on the 
car-tracks. The great arteries of the city were con- 
gested — traffic was delayed by dangerous footing and 
narrowed roadways. The only thing that moved on 
at regulation speed in perfect security, was the pro- 
fanity of the veteran horse-driver, whether enthroned 
on truck or car. 

As Mr. Bergh came from his office, he found a 
radiant white city, bursting into blossom with a mil- 
lion lights. All harsh sounds were muffled by the 
snow-filled air. As he passed through the small park 
that seemed like a fairyland of snow and fire, his 
heart sank low, for he knew his city well — knew it 
was hungry now and hurrying to its dinner, and he 
was sure he'd soon find what he was looking for — 
trouble. 

Like a well-dressed, sombre ghost he went striding 



MR. HENRY BERGH 79 

down the snowy street, and at University Place he 
found the thing he had expected — a car packed in- 
side, almost to suffocation; both platforms packed 
outside, with men clinging like big burrs to bottom 
steps and dashboard rails; and before it, within a 
cloud of steam, two ill-fed, bony horses, with blood- 
shot eyes and wide red nostrils flaring, in their effort 
to fill labouring lungs with air — with heaving sides 
and straining backs and flanks — while their madly 
scrambling feet struck fire from the slippery stones, 
as they strove in vain to start again the awful weight 
behind them. Curses, oft-jerked bell, and assisting 
yells of passengers failed of effect. The driver's whip 
was raised ready for the stinging blow, when sud- 
denly the straining effort ceased, the horses' heads 
drooped low, and through the thick air there loomed 
up before them a tall, dark form, with hand up- 
raised commandingly. And calm and distinct, two 
laconic words reached all ears, " Stop! Unload 1 " 

"Who the hell are you?" furiously demanded 
the driver. " And where's your authority for inter- 
fering with this trip? " 

He knew well enough whom he was talking to, but 
silently Mr. Bergh turned back the lapel of his coat 
to show his badge (for in those days he had to do 
constabulary work as well as official) , then repeated, 
"Unload!" 

But being tired, hungry, and mad, the flood-gates 
gave way, and the passengers' wrath burst forth. 
Abuse, satirical comment, threats filled the air. To a 
few, who remonstrated decently with him, he ex- 



80 THE LIFE OF A STAR 

pressed regret, but with grave politeness insisted on 
lightening the load, telling them they could see for 
themselves the utter inability of the horses to get 
them to the end of the line, and gently urged them 
hereafter to note the condition of crowding before 
taking a place on a car. 

The conductor was especially ugly, and became 
unpleasantly demonstrative. His example worked like 
a leaven on the rest, and a spirit of riot began to show 
distinctly in the crowd closing about the tall, calm, 
self-possessed man. All faces scowled, evil names 
were tossed upon the air. He had just said, " You 
are yourselves increasing this delay; you might have 
moved two minutes and a half ago," when a scur- 
rilous, great brute came close up to him and, with an 
unspeakable epithet, shook a dirty fist directly in his 
face. Without the flash of an eye or the quiver of a 
muscle in his quiet face, Mr. Bergh caught the ruffian 
by the shoulder, whirled him round, grabbed the seat 
of his breeches and the nape of his neck, and with a 
splendid " now all together ! " sort of a swing, he fired 
him straight across the street, head-on, into the snow- 
bank. 

A silence of utter amazement was suddenly broken 
by one great swelling laugh, and then followed the 
always thrilling sound of three gloriously hearty 
American cheers. Many men shook hands with Mr. 
Bergh before beginning their long tramp homeward ; 
some admitted their error in aiding the overloading. 

The carmen sheepishly resumed their places and 
the horses started the lightened car, and the friend 



MR. HENRY BERGH 81 

who had witnessed the incident here joined him, walk- 
ing silently by his side, until at last in a low, moved 
tone, he said: " It's coming! Yes, I have faith to be- 
lieve now that it is coming — the public recognition 
and indorsement of our efforts. Those people under- 
stood I was not interfering from mere love of med- 
dling. Yes, I think they understood." And beneath 
his moustache the nervous quiver of his lips betrayed 
his agitation. 

They understood, yes, but not what he thought 
they did. They understood that the man who had 
courage and also the physical strength to back it and 
make it interesting, and who could yet hold both in 
the leash of good breeding and self-control, was a 
man to listen to, and New York began to listen to him 
from that very night. Toute dme rencontre en ce 
monde une oasis; c'etait Vheure marquee pour lull 

The same friend who walked by his side that 
snowy night has seen Mr. Bergh in passing through 
Fulton Market receive fair in the face the un- 
cleansed lights of a slaughtered animal — flung de- 
liberately by one of the furious butchers, the act re- 
ceiving guffaws of laughter from the other butchers 
looking on — and Mr. Bergh wiped his face, which 
was immovable as a graven image, and passed on 
calm and cold and silent. Sometimes a visit to the 
chemist's shop was needed to have stains removed 
from his coat, but he made no remonstrance, and 
never used his power to arrest for malicious mischief, 
disorderly conduct, or for hideous profanity and vile 
language used in a public place. Only steadily, un- 



82 THE LIFE OF A STAR 

flinchingly he arrested all the butchers who made the 
moving of living animals to the abattoir a slow prog- 
ress of sickening horror and anguish. I only mention 
this feature of his hard struggle for the pleasure of 
saying that the time came when a long line of broad, 
extended hands awaited his taking whenever he passed 
the same butcher stalls, every man of whom declared 
that " what the old man said stood, and if it couldn't 
stand alone, why, they were behind it — d'ye see? " 

But before that time arrived there came a dark, 
dark hour. The powerful press had taken up his 
cause — success seemed to smile into his eyes, when 
the money gave out. As yet no great support had 
come to the Society from the wealthy. Bequests were 
unknown, and the work he was doing required money, 
and a good deal of it. Shelter, food, care, medicine 
for the suffering creatures rescued from brutal 
taskmasters, had all to be paid for, to say nothing of 
salaries to lawyer, doctor, agents, etc. Without money 
the Society could not live. And then happened one 
of those things that we sneer at in stories for 
their unlikelihood. In a hospital, here in New 
York, a man lay near to death — a Frenchman he 
was, whose business had been for many years that 
of trapper and fur-trader. Living among and dealing 
with the Indians, he had seen such cruelties practised 
upon animals that memory was a horror to him. 
Either he had no family, or he had drifted away 
from it, for he was quite alone in his keen watch of 
approaching death. 

To lighten the heavy hours, he looked at the pic- 



MR. HENRY BERGH 83 

tures in magazine or paper, and noting the many 
so-called " comics " Mr. Bergh was both subject and 
object of, he remarked one day to an attendant that 
" a white man with a pencil could be meaner than an 
Indian with a tomahawk," which led the attendant to 
speak of Mr. Bergh and his crusade at length to 
his interested listener, closing with a sigh and the 
remark that rumour said his work was greatly ham- 
pered by lack of funds. 

A night of thought, and then a note went forth 
from the hospital asking if Mr. Bergh would call 
upon a patient there, by name M. Bonnard. Sur- 
prised, but ever courteous, he went. The sick man 
described the horrors he had seen, and then expressed 
his joy that someone had risen up to show the world 
that animals had some rights that demanded recog- 
nition and respect. 

41 You are cool and wise and determined. You will 
go far! " he cried. 

And Mr. Bergh quite frankly answered " he could 
not go much farther without help." 

44 But," excitedly replied the trader, " I shall help 
you ! I have not chased the dollar all these years 
without catching him — now and then. Mon ami, I 
am a lonely man. What is mine, is mine alone, to do 
with as I please, and raise outcry from no one. Only 
promise me that if you ever have the power to reach 
so far, you will extend your protection to the tor- 
mented wild things of the forest and plain, and what 
I have shall be at your service." And Mr. Bergh, 
thinking of some modest little sum from this lonely 



84 THE LIFE OF A STAR 

hospital patient, thanked him cordially, more for his 
words of appreciation and encouragement than for 
the possible future gift, which would probably come 
too late to be of much service to the Society, and went 
his worried anxious way. 

A few days passed, then, dazed and dazzled, he 
sat staring at a scrap of paper that held the trader's 
gift to him. M. Bonnard was dead, but he had kept 
his word, and had helped the Society for the Pre- 
vention of Cruelty to Animals to the extent of nearly 
$115,000, or every cent he owned — a noble gift to 
a noble cause, with a touch of poetic justice about 
it, for from animals it came and to animals it 
returned. 

Since that first saving bequest, many have hon- 
oured themselves in honouring the claims of the dumb 
and helpless creatures left to man's mercy; and when 
one thinks that in New York alone in one single year 
nearly 4,000 animals were suspended from labour and 
cared for, 552 disabled horses removed from the 
stony streets in ambulances, and 98,000 animals of all 
kinds, small and large, were humanely destroyed, 
while 56,000 cases were investigated, and 510 prose- 
cutions were made, one begins to understand how vast 
is the labour of the Society and how great the need 
for help. 

Mr. Bergh's sense of the ludicrous was conspicu- 
ous by its absence. If you have to dissect a joke to 
explain it, it is apt to bleed to death in the operation, 
and dead things are never funny. I never saw Mr. 
Bergh recognise a joke, and he was too honest to 



MR. HENRY BERGH 85 

pretend to see the point he was blind to; but after 
careful search I have found a man who will swear 
that Mr. Bergh did see a joke once, one directed 
against himself, and malicious though it was, he 
laughed right heartily. 

A certain driver working for a wholesale firm 
in Vesey street gave much trouble by extravagantly 
overloading his horse. At last, finding himself so 
persistently watched, he began to behave better, and 
the espionage was lightened, when lo, Mr. Bergh, 
coming down town, met this man with a load of 
boxes so high that heads were turning all along the 
line of pedestrians to stare at it. Instantly the long 
arm was raised and the familiar " Stop ! You're 
overloaded ! " was heard. 

" Why do you take advantage of my supposed 
absence to pile such a weight as that behind a horse? " 
asked Mr. Bergh sternly. 

" It ain't too much for him ! " growled the driver. 

" Not too much? " cried Mr. Bergh. " Why, that 
load is almost two stories high ! Lighten it at once ! " 
And somewhat to his surprise, without the usual 
blasphemous offers to fight before yielding, the man 
turned slowly, the boxes swaying dangerously at 
their giddy height, and, with the following crowd, 
drew up in front of the firm's building. Now, had 
Mr. Bergh been a closely observant man, he would 
have suspected such ready obedience, and would, 
too, have noted the malicious sparkle in the fellow's 
eye and the pucker of his tobacco-stained lips, but 
he noted nothing save the frightful height of the 



86 THE LIFE OF A STAR 

load. So the crowd looking on, hoping for a scrim- 
mage, saw the man drop the restraining ropes and 
remove box after box. He paused, but Mr. Bergh, 
after a critical walk about the outfit, motioned him 
to go on and still further lessen the load. With a 
grin the man obeyed. The sidewalk was nearly cov- 
ered with great piled-up cases, when Mr. Bergh 
called a halt, saying, "That will do; the horse can 
move that load with safety." 

" He can that," replied the grinning driver. " He 
can move it widout strainin' hissel' inside or out, for 
ivery dom box is impty! " 

Every soul in the crowd broke into laughter. As 
the Irishman climbed to his place, the guardian of 
animals looked at the empty boxes and then at the 
sturdy horse, saw the joke, and joined right heartily 
in the laugh against himself. 

But he that laughs last laughs best, and the fun 
was not yet over; for Mr. Irishman, gathering up 
his reins, gave his cluck and loud " Git-up there! " 
all in vain. The horse turned his head, and giving 
Mr. Bergh one long, steady look, switched his tail, 
and stood stock still. The refusal to move that 
trifling load was utterly ludicrous, and someone 
yelled, " Look at de horse standin' in wid Bergh ! " 
while another shouted, " Well, what kind of a beast 
would he be if he didn't lie to back up a friend? " 
and amid peals of laughter, Mr. Bergh himself took 
the animal's bridle and gave him a lead to start him, 
while the driver was pelted with hoots and jests till 
clear out of sight. 



MR. HENRY BERGH S7 

But it was in a certain incident occurring on Fourth 
Avenue and Twenty-second Street one morning that 
Mr. Bergh's conduct was the most like the conduct 
of the gentle and dignified Don from la Mancha, 
whom he so resembled in face and figure. Gloved, 
caned, perfectly gotten up, with flowering button- 
hole and all, he was walking briskly to his office, 
when from behind him he heard such frantic mooing 
from a cow as told plainly of suffering and wild ex- 
citement, and now and again the weaker sound of 
the half bleat, half bawl of a very young calf. 

He stopped, faced about, and saw a thick-set, 
sturdy man who, with the aid of a rope, resounding 
blows, and many oaths, dragged a struggling, pro- 
testing cow down the avenue, while hunger-crazed 
and thirsty, a weak-kneed little calf stumbled along 
trying to keep up with the frantic mother. Nor was 
the cow's misery merely maternal excitement — she 
was suffering cruelly. She was fevered, overweighted, 
her bag and udders so swollen, so distended that the 
milk dripped and trickled to the pavement as she 
moved, a condition, according to those who under- 
stand cattle, of excruciating pain. Hence Mr. Bergh 
to the rescue. 

He halted the man and asked " Why he did not 
allow the cow relief? " 

The man glowered stupidly, then sullenly re- 
peated: " Relafe? Relafe? Relafe from what? I've 
druv' no finer cow thin that these five year! " 

" You know she suffers," went on Mr. Bergh, 
" and so does that calf — it's weak with hunger." 



88 THE LIFE OF A STAR 

The sulky drover was all the time keeping 
the small creature away from the tempting milk. 
11 Hungry, is it? " he grunted. " Well, what of it? 
Sure, it's nothin' but a calf — it's no good ! " 

"Well, the cow's some good, isn't she?" went 
on the interfering gentleman. " Why don't you ease 
her pain? Just look at those dripping udders! It's 
shameful. Let the calf go to her ! " 

But fairly dancing with rage, the man refused, 
crying out that that condition would bring him a 
better bargain in selling the animal. Then Mr. Bergh 

declared officially, " This calf is going to — to " 

Perhaps he did not know the technical term, or per- 
haps its sound was offensive — at all events, what he 
said was, " This calf is going to breakfast right here 
and now! Tie the cow to this hydrant! You won't? 
Do you wish, then, to be arrested? " and he showed 
his badge, and taking at the same moment the rope 
from the ugly, but now stupefied man, he himself 
led the cow to the corner and tied her with his own 
neatly gloved hands; and as the frantic moos had 
brought the neighbours to their windows, there were 
many laughing lookers-on at the unusual picture of 
an elegant and stately gentleman standing guard over 
a red cow with brass buttons on her horns, while her 
spotted baby calf began the milk-storage business 
with such reckless haste that the white fluid drizzled 
from either side of its soft, pink mouth, and the 
mother meantime, not to waste the blessed oppor- 
tunity, hastily but tenderly made its toilet. And 
though to the human eye she licked the hairs mostly 



MR. HENRY BERGH 89 

the wrong way, the two most interested seemed to be 
satisfied with the result. 

And there the tall man stood in patient, dignified 
waiting, while the enraged owner, with a few sym- 
pathising male and female compatriots, made the 
air blue about them — stood, until at last baby-bossy 
let go and faced about, when two long, contented 
sighs, and the calm glances of two pairs of big soft 
eyes told their protector his work was done and to 
their complete satisfaction. Then he loosed the rope, 
gave it into the owner's hand, and having in a public 
avenue superintended a young calf's breakfast and 
toilet, he calmly resumed his way, and all unrumpled 
entered his office, the whole thing being like a page 
torn from " Don Quixote." 

That Mr. Bergh was fond of the theatre seems 
natural enough — it rests and amuses many busy men; 
but it did not seem so natural that a man of such 
marked executive ability, of such courage, tenacity, 
and endurance, should burn with an ambition to write 
plays. Nevertheless, that was the dear desire of his 
heart, and in spite of his cold reserve and stately 
dignity, he was willing — nay, eager — to sit as pupil 
at the knee of any earnest actress who would listen 
to his hopes and look at his work. For, much against 
my will, I must admit that the plays produced by 
that zealous and sincere student of the drama might 
well have been the lucubrations of a clever girl of 
sixteen years. For, believe me if you can, their one 
and only motive was ever — love. They were five-act 
raptures — not of strong, moving passion, mind you, 



9 o THE LIFE OF A STAR 

but of mere sentiment. A dramatisation of " The 
Children of the Abbey " would have been strong 
and turbulent by the side of any one of those plays 
I read. 

And that was the work of the man who had faced 
a nation's ridicule, had bent the legislature to his 
will, and was educating a people to serve God and 
themselves by granting mercy to the dumbly suffering 
creatures about them. 

Though my knowledge of Mr. Bergh came only 
from what I call a " parlour friendship," which, no 
matter how long, never equals a " working friend- 
ship," yet it must be remembered that I was studying 
him from the first with one object in view, to learn 
why he undertook the labour of his life. And I 
learned just what everybody else had learned: that 
the unspeakable cruelty of a Russian driver in a St. 
Petersburg street had first aroused his resentment. 
The gendarme had refused to arrest the brutal fel- 
low. A crowd had threatened Mr. Bergh, and he 
had barely escaped maltreatment. Next day — he 
was Secretary of Legation there — he had donned 
some court dress and ribbons and orders, and going 
alone, back to the dangerous quarter, had picked out 
his man, who, grovelling at the display of sup- 
posed official power, was arrested and taken before 
the proper authorities. This opera-bouffe incident 
amused him not at all, and his description of the 
sickening brutality was given in the cold, even, un- 
disturbed voice of disapproving justice. 

And there I was — and here I am. 



MR. HENRY BERGH 91 

I have inquired from those who worked at his 
side, of those who to-day splendidly head the now 
powerful Society, and they know no more of that 
mysterious " why " than I do. 

He was a cool, calm man. He did not love horses; 
he disliked dogs. Affection, then, was not the moving 
cause. He was a healthy, clean-living man, whose 
perfect self-control showed steady nerves that did 
not shrink sickeningly from sights of physical pain; 
therefore, he was not moved by self-pity or hysterical 
sympathy. One can only conclude that he was born 
for his work. He was meant to be the Moses of the 
domestic animal, meant to receive the " tables of the 
law " for their protection, and to coax, drive, or 
teach the people to respect and obey those laws. 

How else can you explain that large, calm, im- 
personal sort of justice, that far-seeing pity that was 
not confined to the sufferers of the city's streets, but 
sent forth agents to protect the tormented mules and 
horses of the towpath; to search out the ignorant 
cruelties of the rustic, whose neglect of stock caused 
animal martyrdom — the incredible horrors of sta- 
bling in cellars and roofless shanties. Good God ! the 
hair rises at the thought of the flood of anguish that 
man tried to stem and stop. 

No warm, loving, tender, nervous nature could 
have borne to face it for an hour, and he faced and 
fought it for a lifetime. His coldness was his armour, 
and its protection was sorely needed. 

" A grain of mustard-seed, which a man took and 
cast into his garden." How glad I am that God let 



92 THE LIFE OF A STAR 

this man see the tree waxing and growing from the 
mustard-seed of his casting ere he departed and left 
his great work to others. And happy has Mr. Bergh 
been in having his work carried forward by brave 
and loyal men, who, while loving and honouring his 
memory, yet do this labour for its own sake. 

Leaving bequests and giving great gifts, like auto- 
mobiling, are the joys of the rich. I am a bread- 
winner only, but if I were a rich woman, how swiftly 
would I benefit this Society, whose work is so great, 
so far-reaching, and so continually needed. I would 
do it for pity's sake, for the beasts God has left 
dumb, and for sweet friendship's sake for Don 
Quixote II. — Mr. Henry Bergh. And, after all, I 
end as I began, " Riddle me this — and guess him if 
you can," for I confess I cannot. 



VI 
SARAH SIDDONS'S TRYST 

SHE was an ancient crone, in very truth, who 
told this tale to me. An Englishwoman born 
and bred, whose whole life had been passed 
upon the stage — indeed, 'twas by the scant margin 
of one single hour that she escaped being born in 
the greenroom of a theatre. 

Her father before her had been that thing we 
wonder at, " a strolling player," and had once been 
jailed by a country constable as a vagabond and 
mountebank, when he was giving " To be or not to 
be? " from a stage supported without unanimity by 
four unwilling barrels. But even so, stroller as he 
was, he had had his honours, he had climbed to a 
truly dizzy height; for through one never-to-be-for- 
gotten week, in some far Scottish town, he had acted 
divers parts with that queen regnant of the British 
stage — that goddess of beauty — great Sarah Siddons. 
And when he died, the six old programmes of that 
golden week were the sole inheritance of his actress 
daughter; and when in her old age, while following 
the fortunes of her only son, she came to America, 
the vilely printed, yellowing rags of bills came with 
her, and were prized as other women prize webs of 
lace or ancient bits of silver. 

93 



94 THE LIFE OF A STAR 

She was an actress of the olden time, and knew 
the laws written and unwritten, and all the tricks of 
her trade. She " sawed the air " and mouthed her 
tragedy, tore her passion to tatters, and skipped and 
tittered through her comedy after the ancient fashion 
— but her memory was long and true. I liked to hear 
her broad-vowelled, full-throated talk; and, dear 
Heaven, but she loved the exercise ! And so she often 
found me hanging on her words, my clasped hands 
resting on her broad knee, for she was a very Fal- 
staff of a woman, who required especial chairs for her 
safe support; whose red and venous cheeks sagged 
heavily, and were but the redder from comparison 
with the white curls bobbing against them. And yet 
she drank her beer from a great stone mug at high 
noon each day, and again at midnight, and ate her 
cold beef and pickles and cheese — cheese — cheese, 
and laughed through all, her deep, side-shaking 
laughter, and gave no thought to yet increasing fat; 
but talked and talked and told of the power and 
the potency of the name of — Kemble. — Philip? — 
Charles? I know not now; I only recall clearly that 
night, when the heavy beating of the rain against 
the windows must have damped down her laughter, 
since she called me to her on my late return from 
the theatre, and with tender voice told me of another 
night, when she, a great girl of twelve, had sat upon 
her father's knee, when the country inn was chill and 
damp, and they could ill afford a fire, and he had 
wrapped her well in his old travelling cloak, and 
held her closer as the candle flickered in the draught, 



SARAH SIDDONS'S TRYST 95 

and told her this story of England's idol, Sarah 
Siddons, and of the tryst she kept. 

" Like many a one older and wiser than yourself,'' 
said he, " you think this woman whom the mob ap- 
plauds and the great ones honour, has known but 
success and triumph all her life. But oh, my little 
maid, each goblet filled for human lips contains some 
bitter drops, and though hers held but few, they 
may have made the harder swallowing, because the 
bitterness lay upon the top, where should have been 
but dancing bubbles from the amber depths and all 
the froth and sweetness of her youth. 

" But for her unwise marriage she might not have 
known that dreadful night, when the London that 
fairly crouches at her feet to-day struck fiercely at 
her. The groundlings' laugh, the gallery's hiss; 'tis 
hard even for a man to bear them, be he ever so 
thick of skin or tough of fibre, but for a woman of 
sensibility and pride — good God, it's like the flaying 
of her alive ! 

" Ay, my lass, though you open wide your mouth 
and eyes at the wonder of it, 'tis true withal, Sarah 
Siddons once felt the agony and the shame of failure, 
and for a few years, that must have seemed like ages 
in their passing, driven from the paradise of London- 
town, suffered in the purgatory of the provinces. 
Travelling, rehearsing, making her stage gowns; 
studying the lines of new characters while pressing 
an ailing babe to her breast; and acting, acting, act- 
ing all the time, good parts and bad parts, comedy 
and tragedy, she allowed herself no rest; and the 



96 THE LIFE OF A STAR 

stinging lash that kept her to her work was the 
memory of the jeering laughter and the hiss that had 
come to her across the footlights that night in Lon- 
don-town, when she had perforce gone fasting to her 
bed, praying she might die ere the new day came, 
and the story of her defeat should reach the father 
and the mother who had cast her off. 

"They had expected so much of her; they had 
talked so largely, in true Kemble fashion, of the 
triumphs she was to win — and she had failed, and 
they would be sore ashamed at the close kinship 
between them; and perhaps they might even rejoice 
now that her name was Siddons, since Kemble had 
ever been a synonym of success. 

" Early in the next morning, young Siddons hav- 
ing sold his wife's best pelisse that he might pay their 
small score at the inn, they were about departing, 
when Sarah, all cloaked and hatted, stepped back to 
the room a moment, and her husband heard her 
whispering something there. 

" ' To whom do you speak, sweetheart? ' he asked 
wonderingly. 

" She looked oddly at him, and oddly she an- 
swered, ' I make but a tryst with the woman who 
has suffered here, a tryst I'll surely keep — anon ! ' 

" She smiled wistfully, gave a last glance about 
her, then nodding her head, slowly she repeated, 
1 Anon ! I'll keep my tryst, anon ! ' and left the room, 
the inn, and London-town. 

" During those slow years of exile, while Sarah 
Siddons was toiling to make of herself an actress 



SARAH SIDDONSS TRYST 97 

great enough to justify her birthname, Kemble, time, 
too, oh, marvellous ! was working for and not against 
her; delicately filling out certain hollows about neck 
and shoulders, changing angularities to lovely curves. 
Some there were who roundly vowed that she had 
even grown by inches, but that was drivel. Taller 
she was in sooth, but 'twas port and dignity that lifted 
her so high, not o'er-late growth of limb. And the 
voice, safe housed in her strong white throat, time 
was slowly but surely changing that. Clear and cold 
and penetrating it had been, but 'twas growing 
deeper, richer, and flexible as any singing woman's; 
while bitter memories of wounded pride and tender 
ones of early love, gave a touch of human tenderness, 
whose power was all-subduing — a tone of voice 
possessed by no other Kemble, however great or 
famous. Thus, time and the woman worked to- 
gether to produce the great actress that was soon 
to conquer not merely England, but Great Britain. 

" After several seasons of general work, she had 
decided to place her trust in tragedy alone, and she 
devoted herself to that class of play so successfully 
that people were already beginning to talk of her, 
when an incident occurred that worked to her great 
advantage. During one of her most woful scenes, 
a lady auditor was so overcome with emotions of 
pity and of terror, that she swooned away and was 
borne out to her coach. This testimony to Siddons's 
growing power was passed from lip to lip ; by letter 
it travelled up to London, then bored and hungry 
for sensation. Next followed rumours anent the 



98 THE LIFE OF A STAR 

grace and beauty of the young tragedienne, and big- 
hatted belles with arms thrust elbow-deep in modish 
muffs, listened with supercilious brows and curling 
lips to wigged and jewelled beaux who, snapping 
and tapping their snuffbox lids, profanely wondered 
how long the loutish managers meant to keep them 
waiting for a sight of the new actress, who, 'twas said, 
made other women in the play look like country 
wenches, so great was the beauty, where the colouring 
of a young milkmaid was added to the manner and 
the movement of a duchess royal. 

" At last these plaints and court demands reached 
the managerial ear — for the London manager is 
adder deaf to all provincial claims — and lo ! one day 
came a letter, blottily written on blue paper, sealed 
with scarlet wafers, that curtly offered to Sarah 
Siddons a brief engagement with a brief salary at 
Drury Lane Theatre, London. 

" O, magic word ! O, open sesame to all the good 
things of the world! To her London might spell a 
home, competence, social position, and, above all 
else, fame ! — the one thing she was greedy for. And 
when her doubting husband murmured, * Might she 
not fail again ? ' she turned upon him with cold 
anger, exclaiming, ' Sir, Kembles are not born to 
fail twice in a lifetime ! ' And when her letter of 
acceptance had gone forth, she nodded her head 
gently, and, as if answering one who importuned 
her, said: ' Anon ! I'll keep my tryst with thee, poor 
heart ! Anon ! Then only can we rest.' 

" And though her words filled with amaze the lov- 



SARAH SIDDONS'S TRYST 99 

ing, jealous husband, he dared neither question nor 
catechise. 

" And then had come that night, when at old 
Drury Lane the rank and fashion and brain of 
London-town, in a very transport of approbation, 
had seen a woman, as true and pure as she was rarely 
beautiful, put forth her strong, white hands and 
secure the magic flower of success! 

" It was the night when the privileged stare of 
George of Wales, having ended in flushed and smil- 
ing admiration, the new actress had been caught up 
to the very heights of fashion. The night, my child, 
when as Belvidera, in old Tom Otway's play, ' Venice 
Preserved/ 'twas said she thrilled the audience with 
her beauty, she froze it with terror at her madness, 
and melted it again with her three wordless cries of 
sorrow. 

" Ah, it was a wondrous night ! And there were 
posies and messages and cards, from my Lady This 
and That, and by and by the regular habitues of the 
greenroom were crowded to the very walls by the 
headlong surge of London's greatest men, who 
wished to offer homage to the newly-risen star, while 
finally the powerful Lady North Invited Sarah to 
sup with her that night. 

" Now Mr. Siddons loved the nobility with all 
his soul, and with obsequious gratitude would have 
accepted this invitation for his wife had she not 
swiftly interfered, saying she had a previous engage- 
ment, and no, it could not be broken. Her humble 
duty to her ladyship she would gladly make at any 

tore, 



ioo THE LIFE OF A STAR 

time appointed — only should she break her solemn 
pledge, the great Lady North would in her heart 
think ever poorly of her servant. 

" And so majestic was her manner of speaking, 
that the messenger went back to Lady North and 
told her Siddons was well worth waiting for, and 
far too rare a creature to crush incontinently. 

" Early in the evening Mr. Siddons had seen his 
wife sending forth a messenger, but he was too much 
occupied to inquire for what purpose. So when they 
left the theatre, he was surprised to find her turning 
in the wrong direction. He corrected her rather 
shortly, for the memory of that rejected supper in- 
vitation rankled still. But she made stern answer: 
' We go to our old lodging for an hour. I have my 
tryst to keep ! ' 

" And while he glared at her in astonishment, 
there came to him the picture of his wife, standing 
hatted and cloaked, whispering to the empty room, 
and a chill creep came into his blood as though she 
were uncanny. 

" 'Twas a poor place of entertainment, and as 
they made their way to the well-remembered room, 
he gave thanks to the gods that better things had 
come to them at last. 

" All her life Sarah Siddons had been called a 
cold, cautious, and most politic woman, but on that 
one night she seems to have yielded herself utterly 
to sentiment. Her husband, having closed the door, 
turned to find her standing in the middle of the ill-lit 
room, looking down upon the table, where was 



SARAH SIDDONS'S TRYST 101 

roughly served a crusty loaf, some cheese, and old 
brown mead, and he cried out, * Was it for this you 
turned your back upon light and luxury, wine and 
brilliant company?' 

" But she answered : ' Nay ! 'twas for the woman 
who sorrowed here that awful night.' 

" His eyes sank before her brilliant gaze, and 
suddenly he saw that there was a wonderful running 
together of opposite things. This radiant creature, 
with rose-flushed cheeks, was Success personified — 
Success, thrice triumphant ! In youth, in beauty, and 
in art, great Sarah Siddons! And yet how close in 
point of time she came to that other creature crushed 
and forlorn, who bore the same name; and he began 
to understand, though dimly, why they were there 
again. 

" ' Do you remember,' she asked, * the woman 
who suffered here? She was so young — spoiled, too, 
and misled by home praise and large talk of her 
great gifts, but brave and very hopeful; and she 
strove so hard to win success, and smiled and strug- 
gled on, until her courage broke against a brutal 
hiss ? Dear God, that hiss ! It entered at the portal 
of her ears, and burning like liquid fire, made cir- 
cuit of each chamber of her brain, then followed the 
coursing blood until to the very soles of her weary 
feet she glowed with shame! 'Twas here she fell, 
with arms outstretched across this table, and hid her 
face from view. And then suddenly, her worn, 
neglected body craving nourishment, she put forth 
her hand for food, but found neither bread nor cheese 



102 THE LIFE OF A STAR 

nor wherewithal to purchase them ! And so she went 
fasting to her bed; but in the morning, ere she left 
the cruel city, she had made solemn tryst with that 
suffering Sarah Siddons who had failed, and promised 
that if ever triumph came, if ever she won success, as 
famous Sarah Siddons, she would return to that same 
room and sup full with her, and pride and gratitude 
might drive away the memory of that hiss! Now 
she is keeping faithfully her promised tryst.' 

" At which the husband lifted the stone mug, 
poured the mead, and, gravely, on one knee, offered 
it to the great woman who was his wife. But though 
his heart was very tender to her, the creeping chill 
was in his blood still as she leaned across the table, 
and with ineffable gentleness said : ' To you, poor 
heart, I drink and bring to you success! 9 

" And he was truly a grateful man, when she in 
her turn filled the mug, and holding it to his lips, 
smilingly commanded him to drink, * To the con- 
tinued success of the favourite, Sarah Siddons, and 
your loving wife, sir.' 

" And then," said my very old informant, " my 
father wiped his eyes with an enormous red silk hand- 
kerchief, and said, 'A prodigious creature, my child — 
prodigious ! And you can see she was a brave woman, 
too, for it was not an easy thing to do, to refuse an 
invitation from nobility at a time when actors were 
a little lower than the beggars ! ' Yes, prodigious is 
the word, for the gentle and strong, the beautiful 
and great — old England's idol — Sarah Siddons." 



VII 
GARFIELD 

DURING one of my many visits to Washing- 
ton, an odd little incident occurred anent 
the late James A. Garfield. As a frequent 
guest of the hospitable home of Mr. and Mrs. Donn 
Piatt, I had had the pleasure of meeting many wise 
men from the North, South, East and West, and 
fair women, too, from as many quarters; and as 
Colonel Piatt was an Ohio man, it seemed perfectly 
natural that he should find a boon companion and 
close friend in that other Ohioan, the big, gentle 
Garfield — whom I came to know, regard and heartily 
admire. 

But to make my story intelligible, I shall have to 
go back a good many years, to a time when my 
mother had accepted a situation in the country as 
housekeeper for an old, old man and his middle- 
aged son. The big old lonely house standing in a 
grove of locust trees had been visited again and 
again by Death, until at last, only these two men 
grimly faced each other in the bitter silence of 
hatred. For yoked together as they were by blood 
and circumstances, the older man had ever been cruel 
and unjust, a wicked man within the law, and it is 
quite astonishing how wicked one can be without 
actually breaking the law, if one is possessed of a 
devil and is cunningly malicious. So this eighty-five- 

103 



io 4 THE LIFE OF A STAR 

year-old " cruelty " sat at one side of the enormous 
fireplace and chuckled viciously and audibly over 
the torment of the forty-year-old son — a new-made 
widower, who hid his sorrow and sat in sullen pa- 
tience at the other side of the hearth keeping a watch- 
ful eye upon the hound that crouched at his side, 
lest bodily hurt come to it from the enemy opposite. 

Into the great, echoing old house my mother and 
I came. There was no building save the barn in sight. 
The school was closed, so, but for the hound, Judy, 
a stiff old shepherd dog, Roy, and my own few books, 
I should almost have gone melancholy mad. 

Uncle Harry, as the younger Mr. Freeman was 
generally called, one day loaned me a book. I was 
delighted beyond words, and even when I went out- 
doors, for a week I carried the book with me. The 
sap was running in the maple trees, snow-covered but 
thinly the ground and patched the great grey 
boulders. The joy of the sugar-camp was at hand. 
I had moulded maple sugar in teacups, in little patty 
pans, in egg shells, in everything I could think of. I 
had one bright morning two fingers bandaged on 
one hand and a thumb on the other, because of sugar 
burns, while a bright new patch on my old frock told 
of yet another burn, and the wrath of my mother 
having been turned against me on account of these 
accumulated mishaps, I had been forbidden the 
pleasure of the camp. Therefore I had taken my 
book and a large cake of maple sugar, and calling 
upon Judy the elastic, and Roy the stiff, to follow, I 
had gone forth to kill time as best I could. 



GARFIELD 105 

After a wild race that ended with the hound far 
ahead, me in second place and Roy well behind the 
field, I conversed with them on various topics, they 
nearly wearing their tails out in excited approval of 
my ideas. Then noticing the extreme whiteness of 
Judy's teeth, which she almost wholly exposed in her 
doggish smile, I remarked: "You should have been 
called Sweetlips instead of Judy, and Roy, if you had 
not been too old I bet you a penny, Uncle Harry 
would have called you Garfield — for that's the name 
of the man he's always talking about, whenever any- 
body comes here. It's just Garfield — canal, and Gar- 
field — man, and Garfield — speech, and Garfield — oh, 
you beast!" for Roy had thrust his nose into my 
apron pocket and grabbed the cake of sugar. But his 
stiff old legs gave out quickly. I rescued the sugar 
and with the calm indifference of childhood wiped it 
off with my apron and returned it to my pocket. But 
when Judy began to nose it violently I felt that dis- 
cretion was the better part of valour, and looking 
about vainly for another place of safety, I held my 
book under my chin, while I climbed up to the top of 
a high rail fence. There I turned laboriously, tucked 
my red calico dress under me to mitigate the severity 
of that top rail and seated myself, straightened my 
hood, opened my book, and with a dog on hind legs 
on each side of me, I fairly shared the sugar with 
them while between bites I read a harrowing story of 
slavery. I had been there some time, for the cake of 
sugar had become a mere crumbly bit, so hard to 
divide into three portions that I yielded to the urgent 



106 THE LIFE OF A STAR 

pleading of a pair of dim brown eyes on one side of 
me and a pair of brilliant topaz ones on the other, 
and broke the fragment in two pieces and as they 
were crunched to powder by sharp white teeth, from 
up the rough and rutty road, there came the loudly 
cried: "Gee — gee haw!" that announced the ap- 
proach of an ox-team. 

Instantly six interested eyes, blue, brown and yel- 
low, turned in that direction, for under some circum- 
stances even a passing load of wood is worthy of 
attention. 

Presently there turned into the road from a cross 
lane a pair of red and white oxen, swaying patiently 
beneath their heavy yoke, whose guide, tall and 
broad, did a great deal of shouting, but almost no 
goading, for which I liked the man whose face I had 
not yet seen. Both dogs left me at once and hastened 
to inquire into the treatment and general condition of 
the steers and to look under the waggon to see if there 
might be a dog there, as country etiquette required, 
and finding an ancient brindled watchdog, there fol- 
lowed a great waving of tails and a general exchange 
of salutations, and Judy being but a scatter-brained, 
flighty young thing at best, spatted her hands with 
lightning quickness before him and invited the new- 
comer to race her, but he only pressed closer to the 
off-steer, looking him over anxiously and pretending 
not to have heard her embarrassing invitation — the 
young are so thoughtless at times. Later on, he and 
Roy, who was his contemporary, found a dry and 
sunny spot where they sat down and talked of the 



GARFIELD 107 

wonderful tenacity of rheumatism when it settled in 
a dog's shoulder. 

Meantime the man approaching, called loudly: 
" Halloo ! halloo ! " toward the house. No answer 
coming, he halted his steers and stood still, looking 
doubtfully over toward the barn. He was in dress 
the typical countryman, big and broad shouldered, 
his trousers legs tucked into his boot-tops, his thick 
coat fastened close about his middle with a leather 
strap never meant for a belt, an enormous pair of 
greyish blue mittens on his hands, a comforter of 
amazing length and fighting-mad colours wound 
about his throat, and a cap with ear tabs on his head, 
a cap whose dark brown colour accentuated the yel- 
lowish blondness of his hair — all that was country- 
man. But in the big, ruddy, full-moon face, with the 
wide, eager, blue eyes, the bold, well-formed nose, 
the kindly smiling lips, all seeming to radiate vitality 
and energy there was no country stolidity — far from 
it. As his wandering eye returned from the barn, the 
dogs clambering back to me again, drew his attention 
to where, like a red woodpecker, I perched on the 
fence. 

" Oh ! " he exclaimed. " Say, little girl, is Freeman 
at home? " 

I looked at him, and gravely asked : " Which one — 
Jedediah or Uncle Harry? " 

The ruddy face quivered for a moment, then the 
answer came: " Uncle Harry." 

I shook my head regretfully: " He's away — I wish 
he wasn't!" Then I continued. "Mr. Jedediah 



108 THE LIFE OF A STAR 

Freeman's home " — with a sigh — " I wish he 
wasn't." 

What a shout of laughter came from the stranger's 
great throat. The wind fluttered over the leaves of 
my story just then and the laugh ended abruptly, the 
big blue eyes sparkled. 

" I-is that a book? " he asked. " Are you reading 
it?" 

" Of course, I am," I replied with offended dignity. 

44 Oh! " he exclaimed. " What is it about, eh? is 
it good?" 

44 Well," I replied with a critical twist of my 
hooded head, 44 n-no — it's not so very good." Then 
hurriedly. 44 Of course, all books are some good. 
This is called 44 Dred, or the Dismal Swamp," and 
it's kind of shuddery, you know; but it's not like my 
two best books." 

He came quite close to me and asked in the most 
interested manner: 44 Which are they — your two best 
books, Sissy? " 

And I answered swiftly: 4t Jane Eyre " and 44 Rob- 
inson Crusoe." 

He lifted up his voice again in hearty laughter, 
while he smote the rail a blow with his fist that set 
Judy frantic with excitement, and then he cried : 

44 Good! Good for you, little girl! I back your 
judgment in books. But who are you anyway? You 
can't be a country child? " He looked toward the 
house and then suddenly answered his own question : 
44 Why, I guess you must be the daughter of old 
Jedediah's housekeeper — that's who you are." 



GARFIELD 



109 



" Well," I returned rather testily, " I can guess 
too, and I guess you are my Uncle Harry's Mr. Gar- 
field — that is if you ever make speeches." 

He caught my face between his big mittened hands 
and laughed as he rocked me so from side to side : " I 
tell you what, little one, if I had a faster team here, 
I think I'd run you off." 

"Whereto?" I asked. 

" Oh ! " he answered, " to some place chock full of 
books. Would you go? " 

And being a miniature woman, I shook my head 
violently, while smiling a distinct consent. 

He glanced up at the farmer's clock — the sun, 
caught up his goad and started up his oxen. The 
brindle broke off his conversation with Roy to make 
a swift investigation of the soles of my shoes and the 
condition of our barn-yard gate before hastening to 
take his proper position under his waggon. Then I 
demurely remarked: "You didn't want me to tell 
Uncle Harry anything then, did you? " 

" Good Lord ! " cried the driver. " I clean forgot ! 
Please tell Freeman not to fail Garfield at the meet- 
ing to-morrow night, at Aurora ! Remember, little 
girl, Aurora — not at the schoolhouse, that's too 
small! Aurora! Good-bye! " And with much creak- 
ing and rumbling the waggon moved in response to 
the efforts of the red and white steers, who swayed 
and shambled and gee'd and haw'd in patient obedi- 
ence to the big, kind voice that directed them. Once 
he turned and looking back saw me standing on the 
fence ready to jump, while the dogs wildly leaping up 



no THE LIFE OF A STAR 

in front of me made the jump impossible. And so with 
a last Homeric burst of laughter, the young Gar- 
field of the farmer period passed out of my life, to 
enter it again years later, through the doors of a 
Washington drawing-room. 

The country being very interesting and the roads 
fine about the city I had had my saddle-horse sent on 
from New York and with my host and some of his 
friends I enjoyed many delightful and some rather 
exciting rides — especially that wild rush to escape 
arrest at the hands of the police, I, as a stranger, 
having tangled my horse all up in the red tape so 
plentiful at that time in the park at the Soldiers' 
Home. Mr. Henry Watterson suggested that we run 
for it. We did, and the policeman proved he was 
better mounted than we had believed. We escaped, 
but at the same time we had a race well worth re- 
membering. One day as Colonel Piatt was about to 
lift me from my horse, he noticed a gentleman was 
leaving his door, and called out as his face lit up with 
pleasure: " Oh, I say, old fellow, go back! go back! 
We'll be there in one second! I want to see you! " 

And as I slipped from the saddle, he added to me : 
" There's the man I particularly wish you to know." 
Then in the hall: " Oh, don't go to your room, no 
one minds a little dust and a few flecks of foam ! " 
and there in the drawing-room doorway appeared 
stalwart, well-groomed, well-dressed a personified 
geniality; and a jesting voice was presenting the Hon. 
James A. Garfield. 

I drew the bridle-worn gauntlet from the hand I 



GARFIELD 1 1 1 

offered him and as he raised his head from a courtly 
salutation his big blue eyes looked fairly into mine 
and the words he was pronouncing trailed away into 
silence. He looked fixedly at me; a worried, puzzled 
expression growing on his face. Then with a start and 
an embarrassed stammer, he completed his greeting. 

After a little I withdrew to dress for dinner, and 
I was scarcely out of the room, before he called out: 
" Where have I seen that little woman before — will 
someone tell me that? " 

Mrs. Piatt said: " On the stage of course." 

"No— no!" he objected. "That's not it. When 
I looked into her eyes just now, I knew I had looked 
into them before, yet I couldn't quite catch the mem- 
ory where or when. Oh, laugh — but I tell you I'll 
trace that memory out yet — you see if I don't." 

As time went by and I came to know something of 
him, it goes without saying that I liked him. One 
of General Garfield's most attractive traits was his 
enthusiasm. Whatever he did, was it work or play, 
he did with all his heart, the big warm heart that 
held so many, yet scamped no one of their share of 
love. He was so proud of his wife — that's always a 
good sign in a man. He gave me the pleasure of her 
acquaintance and I found her a woman of most wide 
reading and deep thinking; well informed, clever, but 
apparently a human sensitive plant. In the bosom of 
her family she was brilliant, but at the faintest touch, 
even the touch of the world, she shrank into silence 
and an absolute timidity of manner. Yet she was to 
her big husband guide, philosopher and friend. His 



ii2 THE LIFE OF A STAR 

literary idols were Dickens and Shakespeare. He 
quoted from them almost continually and I stood even 
with him in knowledge of Dickens, but he was head 
and shoulders above me in Shakespeare — for my 
slight study of him had been confined to the acted 
plays, but Mr. Garfield knew him from cover to 
cover. There was no pose about it, he had studied 
Shakespeare because he loved him, and loved him be- 
cause he had so long studied him. Our arguments 
over Lady Macbeth' s character were many and warm, 
and whenever I won a momentary advantage, he had 
a funny way of bending down his big brainy head 
and violently shaking it, exactly after the manner of 
a great St. Bernard, shaking its head free from a too 
annoying fly. But whenever or wherever I met him 
he was tormented by that conviction of having seen 
me before. 

" Confound it, I even feel an impulse to call her 
by her first name ! " he said impatiently to Colonel 
Piatt. Again he remarked: " If we have ever lived 
in some other world — why I must have seen her 
there." 

At last it became evident that his tantalising im- 
pression of some former meeting was always strong- 
est when we were out of doors. At such times his al- 
most boyish laugh would cease ; his clever banter fal- 
ter into silence, while his blue eyes would take on a 
look so tense and sometimes so troubled, that often I 
was tempted to give him the clue he was searching 
for; but a mischievous desire to see if he would ever 
find it for himself kept me silent. He spoke of his odd 



GARFIELD 113 

impression to some of his friends, asking if they had 
ever had a like experience; and it often happened 
that as he left the theatre after a performance some- 
one would hail him with the laughing question: 
"Well, have you caught up with her yet?" or, 
" Have you secured the date of that first meeting? " 

Then there came an evening when at a dinner given 
by Mrs. Piatt, I found myself sitting exactly oppo- 
site Mr. Garfield. The company was not a large one 
but it boasted some famous names and at least one 
brilliant beauty. Carefully chosen, the guests seemed 
charmed with one another; coldness and restraint were 
notable by their absence; conversation was brilliant 
and laughter was light, when turning my glance a 
moment from the Southern senator at my side, I 
looked full into the fixed, wide blue eyes of Mr. Gar- 
field. He was leaning forward, one hand tightly 
clenched lay on the table. From the strained faraway 
look he turned upon me, I knew in a moment he 
was again searching for that memory, and as I gazed 
into his unwinking eyes, the buzz of talk and laughter 
turned into a murmur of wind through leafless trees. 
I saw pale winter sunshine falling across some snow- 
patched fields. Leaning a little toward him, in a very 
low but distinct tone I said : " Gee — gee haw ! " A 
flash like blue lightning snapped into his eyes and as 
I added, " Is Freeman at home? " he gave a cry, al- 
most a shout and striking a blow upon the table that 
set the glasses and small silver all a-dancing, he cried : 

"I've found you! I've found you at last, and 
you're sitting on top of the fence in a red calico dress 



ii 4 THE LIFE OF A STAR 

with a book in your lap ! " Then in the midst of the 
commotion he had raised, he threw his arm about 
Colonel Piatt crying: u Ah, you thought I was meat 
for an asylum — you know you did ! But I have found 
her out at last — so you see I'm not half as crazy as 
you thought I was ! " 

Questions rained upon him and much laughter fol- 
lowed his story of that faraway meeting on the 
country road, but one grave old gentleman (Judge 
Holt) questioned us earnestly in the drawing-room as 
to what was in both our minds at the moment in which 
I spoke. I was not much surprised to hear Mr. Gar- 
field say, that in his backward search for a clue to the 
tormenting half memory, he had got as far as Cleve- 
land and failing to find me there was hopelessly try- 
ing Aurora, and the country around there, when I 
spoke. 



VIII 
THE SHADOW OF THE TEMPLE 

WE were playng our way westward to Cali- 
fornia. The next week we were due at 
Salt Lake City, a favourite halting place 
of mine. Now we were in a small town in that State 
of many marvels — Colorado. The men were mostly 
at work in a mine or mines at some little distance 
from the town itself, so its streets had a very quiet air 
during the business hours of the day. Everything 
about the place seemed to have the quality of crystal 
purity. The air — the wondrous sky — the sparkling 
water; while the mountains took strange forms and 
like stupendous beasts couchant against the distant 
blue, seemed ready to rise at some dread command 
and descend with world-jarring steps, into the valley, 
to destroy the pigmy toilers there. And in that dis- 
tant quiet little mountain-town I found the woman, 
who said to me with trembling lips : " You see — I'm 
standing in the shadow of the Temple — so cannot be 
safe!" 

We, my husband and myself, had started to drive 
to the " Garden of the Gods." The carriage came to 
grief before we were outside the limits of the town, 
and we got down, my husband and the driver to look 
for aid, while I walked up and down, past a row of 
one-story cottages, occupied by miners and their fam- 
ilies. Most of them bore all the dog-ears of wasteful 

115 



n6 THE LIFE OF A STAR 

poverty — of laziness and neglect. Two or three were 
fenced about, but most of them stood in a wild waste 
of empty tins and broken yellow crockery; but at 
sight of the last cottage in the line I stopped, stock- 
still; it made me think of some sweet gentlewoman 
holding her spotless skirts about her and hesitating 
at the entrance to a foul alley — so clean and well- 
curtained its windows were; so neat its scrap of yard. 
As I looked I saw the edge of a curtain gently, gently 
drawn aside, and knew someone was peeping at me. 
All down the line, bare-armed, frowsy-headed women 
had stood openly and gazed, this person was more 
cautious. As I returned on my slow march up and 
down, to pass the weary waiting, the door of the 
pretty house opened and a small woman in a black 
dress and a checked apron stepped out and opened 
her gate, and as I came abreast of it, she bowed and 
asked me would I not come in and sit down as I 
seemed to be waiting for someone; and " Oh, if you 
please," she finished, " are you not from the East — I 
can't be mistaken, you are an Eastern woman — aren't 
you?" As I answered, " Yes," I saw her turn her 
head aside and wipe quick tears from her eyes. I 
entered her little home and sat down in wonderment. 
It was the very flower of cleanliness. The floor was 
immaculate — one strip of carpet lay before the bed — 
one braided rag rug lay beneath the rocker. There 
was very little furniture — no heavy pieces like bureau 
or wardrobe — everything cheap ; but in one window 
were two shelves of flowers, that fairly laughed, so 
lusty, strong and bright they were — not a spindling 



THE SHADOW OF THE TEMPLE 117 

stem not a yellow leaf among them; while on a little 
table, by the worn old Bible, stood her evident pride 
and delight, a rose bush, whose two fat buds had al- 
ready streaks of rich red on their sides, showing how 
hard it was for them to restrain the riotous colour and 
perfume within. 

I had not been one minute in the room when I saw 
my hostess was a woman of ruined nerves. At the 
tiniest sound her blue eyes would widen suddenly, 
painfully — she would glance swiftly over her 
shoulder; then she would smile deprecatingly. She 
kept the white curtains nearly closed and she never 
passed the window without a second's pause to glance 
anxiously into the empty, quiet street. I had given 
her my name and had learned her own was Mrs. 
Mary Wilton. As we talked I had taken off my 
glove. On that hand I had a foolish little ring a girl 
friend had lately given me; a plain band of gold, al- 
most covered with a dark blue enamel that in some 
lights looked black. Her eye fell upon it, and taking 
it for black, she bitterly exclaimed : " That's the 
thing we ought to have for our wedding rings ! " 

u 'We?' Who? " I asked, and she replied: " Oh, 
we Mormons ! " 

I started violently: " Why, Mrs. Wilton," I cried, 
" are you a Mormon? " 

" Well, I'm a Mormon's widow — I suppose it's as 
broad as it's long! " 

" And," asked I, " do the people here know you 
are a Mormon? " 

She shut her hands spasmodically — she passed her 



n8 THE LIFE OF A STAR 

tongue over her pale lips: " I hope not," she whis- 
pered, u Oh, I hope to God, they don't! What's 
that? " she held up her finger warningly. I had heard 
nothing, but she had. Her eyes were wide and 
frightened. She crept cat-like to the window, glanced 
out, then turned a face like death to me and drew 
softly away into a corner. I rose and went to the 
window and looked out openly, while from behind 
me came her whisper: " What do you see? " 

" Only three men," I answered. " They look like 
cattlemen." 

She groaned: "There are no cattlemen here — so 
they are strangers ! Would you know any one of them 
again? " she asked. 

" Yes," I said, " for one is very tall and has red 
hair and to me his beard looks uncommonly like a 
false one ! " 

I had not thought my words would do more than 
provoke a smile; but instead they seemed to throw 
her into a very anguish of terror. 

" It is the end! " she gasped. " It is the end — I 
have felt it for days! Now I am sure, sure! Are 
they looking this way — do they notice this house ? " 

I glanced at her ashen face and at the throbbing in 
her throat, and slowly and pityingly, I told my lie. 
" No, they are just talking among themselves, and 
wandering along, as I was wandering, when you took 
me in." 

Now, in point of fact they were to all seeming an 
evil group and they had looked long and carefully 
at the house, until I had drawn the curtains wide and 



THE SHADOW OF THE TEMPLE 119 

looked back at them — then they turned away and 
moved down the hill. The woman took a corner of her 
apron and wiped her wet palms and beaded forehead. 
I stood before her in wonder. " Mrs. Wilton," I 
asked " what is it that frightens you so? " 

She looked up at me : " Do you know Salt Lake? " 

" Yes," I answered. 

" Well," she continued, casting that nervous glance 
behind her as she spoke, " I am standing in the 
shadow of its Temple, and I shall never be safe — 
until I'm in my grave ! " 

My face betrayed my thought: "No," she an- 
swered, "I'm not insane; but the Mormon arm is 
long — the Mormon punishment is certain ! " She 
shivered in the sunlight, and added low : " And the 
mark was set against my name four years ago ! " 

" My poor woman," I said, " your nerves are 
completely shattered, or you would know all this is 
folly!" 

She looked up gently, patiently at me and asked: 
" Do you know the Book of Mormon? Have you 
studied the Holy Doctrine of Plural and of Celestial 
Marriages? No ! Nor do you know the secrets of the 
Endowment House, nor the terrors of the Danite 
Vow!" 

I broke in upon her, saying: " I know there are no 
Danites now, nor any other body of men who would 
dare close their ceremonies by standing up and 
publicly swearing that * If any man attempted to leave 
the country, or pack his things for that purpose, any 
of the Covenanters seeing it should kill him, and haul 



120 THE LIFE OF A STAR 

him aside into the brush — so his burial should be in 
a turkey buzzard's gizzard! ' " 

"Ah," she cried, "you are quoting the very 
words ! " 

" Yes, I had them from a near friend, who with- 
drew from the Mormon Church because of enforced 
polygamy! " 

She leaned forward eagerly: " How did he do it? 
Where did he go? " she asked. 

" He got slow consent to his making a trip, on im- 
portant business." 

"Ah," she cried proudly, "the East — there's 
safety ! That was a wise man, that friend of yours. I 
wish to Heaven, I was there ! I should be safe, too ! " 

" But," I insisted, " that is all past, there are no 
Danites now, I tell you! There are no murderous 
executions of people who withdraw from the faith ! " 

She smiled a faint, pale smile and in the conciliat- 
ing tone one uses to a fractious child, she answered : 
" No. No. There are no Danites now — no public, 
hideous vows — no killing in broad day; but the 
Danites left sons and sons' sons, and a principle that 
lives and acts in secrecy is strong and terrible ! No, 
there are no punishments by murder now, but," she 
laughed a dry, mirthless laugh and glanced hurriedly 
over her shoulder, " but it's astonishing what strange 
accidents befall the people who leave the Mormon 
Church! " I heard a clatter of hoofs outside — the 
mended carriage rattled up to the gate. 

We had just agreed, that for a certain sum, Mrs. 
Wilton should " do up " two or three delicate lace- 



THE SHADOW OF THE TEMPLE 121 

trimmed articles used on the stage, when we were in- 
terrupted by the fright the men had given her — now 
I returned to the subject. But she shook her head — 
she was willing to go to my private-car — in which we 
were living that week — for the articles, but since she 
had seen the strangers she was afraid to go through 
the streets alone after dark — and it would be night- 
fall when she would have returned the things to me. 
I promised her the protection home of the porter — a 
stalwart yellow man — if she would come, and she 
agreeing, I drove away from the little cage and its 
fluttering inmate. 

As we rattled down the long hill, I caught a glimpse 
of the three men, they were at the foot of the street. 
They were questioning a small boy. One of them 
pointed at Mrs. Wilton's cottage as he spoke, and two 
looked at each other and laughed. My heart sank like 
lead — my palms moistened suddenly — I had caught 
Mrs. Wilton's disease — / was frightened ! 

It must be confessed that I gave a divided atten- 
tion to the weird and marvellous beauty of the great 
Park, well named " The Garden of the Gods." My 
thoughts were busy more than half the time with that 
lonely hard-working woman, back there in the town; 
who was killing herself with fear of imaginary foes 
— though to her they were real enough, poor soul! 
— and I wondered if she would keep her word and 
come to the car; and if she came, I wondered if she 
would tell me anything about her simple, honest, 
kindly self — for I felt she was a good woman, how- 
ever mistaken she might be. 



122 THE LIFE OF A STAR 

I was glad to get back to my elongated, movable 
home, and curled myself up in the cushions to take a 
needed rest before the light dinner that preceded the 
heavy performance of the evening — and was barely 
established there, when the porter came informing 
me that " Mrs. Wilton was there with the lace things 
and did I care to receive her? " " Yes," I answered. 
I did indeed care ! 

She entered the drawing-room, I saw her blue eyes, 
for the moment calm and clear, a flush of colour on 
her cheeks, her lips red and parted with quick breath- 
ing, from her hurried walk in the cold air; and I 
realised suddenly what a very pretty woman she had 
been, but a few years ago. 

I settled the little business matter between us, and 
then shut out the waning day ; had lights brought also 
and an easy chair and as we sat in that close-curtained 
seclusion, the lamps burning warm and bright above 
us, a tea-pot cosey-covered between us, — it came about 
that she spoke and I listened, while she told me how 
for seventeen blessed years she had lived in her native 
state, Vermont, and then she said her father had 
grown dissatisfied and they had gone West — a terri- 
ble undertaking in those days. Misfortune followed 
them closely from the first, and over and over her 
mother had begged that they stop at this place or 
that, and settle down and make a home. But, no — the 
father went ever further on — growing poorer by al- 
most daily accidents and losses, until one brilliant 
sunny morning he met the great loss, and Death 
called a halt, for the wife and daughter at least, while 



THE SHADOW OF THE TEMPLE 123 

the father journeyed on alone into the land we always 
imagine dark with shadows. For ignoring warnings 
and advice he had tried to ford the river from a point 
of his own choosing and had paid for his obstinacy 
with his life. 

The people they had fallen in with were kind, but 
they had no reason to travel further so they remained 
at the little settlement on the river, where the mother, 
already broken in spirit by removal from her old 
home, sank under the shock of her husband's death, 
and in two short months lay beside him under the 
shade of the ragged, unkempt cottonwood tree — and 
she, the daughter, was alone in the world — so alone, 
that when a few months later John Walter Purser 
asked her to marry him, she perhaps accepted him 
with less careful consideration and thought than she 
might have given the subject under other circum- 
stances. 

It was only the day before their wedding that he 
lightly remarked : " Oh, Annie, I belong to the Mor- 
mon Church, you know ! " 

Shocked — she had cried out that she would have 
nothing to do with Polygamy, and he had laughed 
and said she could have no less to do with it than he, 
since he would have nothing to do with it at all; and 
he assured her that Plural Marriages were a reward 
for the High and Mighty of the church, not for poor 
devils like himself. She reminded him of a miserably 
poor Mormon family, who had passed through the 
settlement lately — a family consisting of a man, four 
wives and many children, and he had answered: " If 



i2 4 THE LIFE OF A STAR 

a poor man was fool or brute enough to want a lot 
of wives, the Church could not very well forbid to 
one what it offered to another — but what he meant 
was, that there was no compulsion about the Plural 
Marriages — it was purely an individual matter to be 
settled by individual judgment, taste or conscience. 
It was not a law of the Church, to be enforced, or he 
would not be a Mormon ! " 

He little dreamed what the exact wording of the 
Holy Doctrine of Plural Marriages was. He was but 
a careless and recent convert — a restless, impulsive 
man, who did things without stopping to think of 
possible consequences. And he often paid dear for 
his carelessness. Still he really believed he was 
making a correct statement about the doctrine of 
Polygamy. He loved her, too, and his vows were 
sweet in her ears — when he swore by the dead and 
the living and by the God of both, that he would 
have no other wife but her, so long as she lived, and 
so they were married and went on to the distant City 
of the Saints, and settled down and built a fair house, 
and as for two years she had led a rough and home- 
less life, she was proud and happy, when all being 
settled to her satisfaction she stood in her new home 
and with her husband's arms about her rejoiced over 
its peace and security. " Yes, those had been her very 
words — peace and security.' ' 

As she broke into laughter there, I asked her 
why she laughed? 

She answered that she could not help it; that when- 
ever she recalled that moment of her life, it suggested 



THE SHADOW OF THE TEMPLE 125 

the idea of two children, who had first entered a 
tiger's cage and then inquired of those outside the 
bars, whether or not the fierce animal was dangerous 
to visitors, and after a bit she added : " She had found 
the tiger very dangerous indeed ! " 

Her baby had come to her then and her husband 
had been devoted to it. Some Mormon women had 
visited her and reproached her for not urging Plural 
Marriage upon her husband for the sake of his future 
glory in Heaven — if for no other reason ! Would she 
be content to have him a mere serving angel — as he 
would be if he had but one wife ! The more wives he 
trailed after him in Heaven, the higher his place and 
powers. One gentle creature used always to plead 
for some woman's chance of immortality, telling her 
that females were without souls of their own and 
could only enter Heaven through their relationship 
to man, and in keeping her husband thus selfishly to 
herself she might be cruelly depriving some sister 
woman of life hereafter. 

She had always been kind and friendly with them, 
but argued as little as possible — yet in a short time 
complaints were made about her. Her husband was 
advised by one of the Saints that she should be dis- 
ciplined; they declared she was a firebrand! " What 
had she done? " " Why she had created dissatisfac- 
tion among the women, and what was she anyway, 
that she should live in a manner different from other 
Mormon wives? " 

Hoping to make things easier for her husband, she 
had gone with him on Sunday to the Tabernacle, and 



126 THE LIFE OF A STAR 

had sat with other helpless women and had been 
directly addressed in language of almost incredible 
vulgarity and brutality. The shameful epithets being 
applied not only by the elders but by the apostles, 
while the worst offender of them all was the very 
Prophet himself. Ah, she cried, all the world has 
shrunk from his habit of referring to the women as 
cattle — cows, heifers and calves! but they were 
terms of decency, even of polished refinement com- 
pared to those Prophet Brigham Young used, when 
he made women the butt of his brutal buffoonery, and 
clumsy satire, before laying upon them his savage 
commands! And she had sat with burning face and 
downcast eyes, and seeing the trembling of her hus- 
band's clenched hands, had been comforted — because 
she knew he was shaken with anger at the insult put 
upon her womanhood. More and more often certain 
of the elders of the church had sought him out after 
the fourth year had passed in Salt Lake City. They 
came to his house after business hours — they com- 
mented upon his success — they estimated his probable 
house expenses, and she had laughed at them as busy- 
bodies when they were gone, and could not under- 
stand John Purser's growing agony of mind. 

Then one day he had come to her very white-faced, 
and told her he had been deceived about the " Holy 
Doctrine," and had now been studying it and from 
its frothy foolishness of expression — its river of rep- 
etitions, two cruel facts had emerged — Polygamy 
was a binding law of the Church, and it was expressly 
stated that " all who had this law revealed to them, 



THE SHADOW OF THE TEMPLE 127 

must obey the samel That if one failed to abide by 
the Covenant — then was he damned! " Also of the 
woman, whose husband had taught her the law of 
the priesthood as pertaining to these things (Plural 
and Celestial Marriages) it was plainly stated: " She 
shall believe, and she shall administer unto him, or 
she shall be destroyed! " 

That last was a word of awful import to any 
Mormon — man or woman — and for the first time she 
had been frightened — a little later and the blow her 
husband had been dreading, fell ! There had been a 
visit from two Elders of high standing, who came to 
say great honour had come upon him, inasmuch as the 
Prophet Young had received a revelation directly con- 
cerning the physical happiness and the spiritual power 
and glory of John Walter Purser — in short he was 
to take to wife one Sarah Hyde, and so perform his 
duty to the Church. And he had pleaded, reasoned, 
argued — all in vain. When he had spoken of her — 
his wife — they had coldly informed him that he was 
living in sin with her — as the Mormon Church recog- 
nised no marriage that was not sanctioned by the 
Prophet. Finally they had withdrawn smiling evilly 
and saying they would give him a short time in which 
to make up his mind. A day passed and surprisingly 
few people entered John Purser's store. On the sec- 
ond day he noticed a curious red mark on his door, and 
everyone who saw it turned away without entering. 
The third day not a single human being entered the 
shop and he understood — the ban of the Church was 
upon him, in the words of to-day he was boycotted. 



128 THE LIFE OF A STAR 

In terror he had thought of flight and quietly made 
some inquiries about railroad fares — when the agent 
to whom he spoke in strict confidence, and who was 
his friend, begged him for God's sake not to attempt 
to leave if he valued either his wife's life or his own. 

" You ought to know enough by this time," he 
said, " of the power and the vindictiveness of this 
party of men who run the Church. The body of the 
Mormon people are simple, ignorant and honest, but 
they have vowed blind obedience to the Prophet, and 
they keep their vows. With the mark against your 
name, your life is not worth a rushlight anywhere in 
the territory. Go home — throw yourself on the mercy 
of your wife and obey the Church — before you dis- 
appear as mysteriously as did the Elder who refused 
to give his fourteen-year-old daughter to be J. D. 
Lee's ninth wife. What are you compared to an 
Elder? Yet he is gone and Lee has the daughter! So 
what chance have you? A Mormon must sacrifice 
everything to his standing in the Church! " 

He had gone home — the husband and wife had 
agonised through the night — and next day he notified 
the Prophet that he would be at the Endowment 
House to accept his new wife at any time he chose 
to appoint. 

The woman talking to me grew white even at the 
recollection of that awful day when she had prepared 
her house for the reception of another wife. I can- 
not repeat the humiliating details — but all that kept 
her from laying violent hands upon herself, was her 
child's need of her. 



THE SHADOW OF THE TEMPLE 129 

Usually, the first wife has to assist at all the mar- 
riages her husband makes — indeed it is the first wife 
who joins the hands of the contracting parties, and 
gives the new wife to her husband; but she had been 
spared that awful ordeal, because the Church denied 
her marriage. Bravely she prepared the evening meal 
and met the bride of her own husband at the door of 
her own little home. The new Mrs. Purser being 
Mormon born and bred, felt no embarrassment, 
which was well. Bravely Number One held on to her 
self-control through that dreadful meal — a self-con- 
trol nearly destroyed by her little girl's innocent 
inquiry: " Mama — is that strange lady going to stay 
with us until to-morrow?" That night she had 
passed on her knees by the side of her sleeping child. 

In the weeks and months of agony, of shame, of 
humiliation that followed, she looked at her wedding 
ring and had murmured, " after all I am his wife in 
the eyes of God! I alone — yes, I am his real wife," 
and that thought sustained her. 

Sarah Purser had many relatives and they often 
visited her, and thus a new torture came into the life 
of Annie Purser, for an uncle of the former — a cer- 
tain powerful elder in the church — cast a favouring 
eye upon her, and, treating her as an unmarried 
woman, drove her fairly wild with his attentions and 
proposals. Then in the midst of it all, her little girl 
had fallen ill. The father had seemed most anxious, 
and had shared the night-watching with her, and even 
in that time of fear, she had felt how sweet it was to 
have him all her own again for a few precious hours. 



i 3 o THE LIFE OF A STAR 

But the young Sarah was irked by the sickness and 
the quiet. She demanded that " her husband take her 
to a party at her uncle's." 

The child seemed worse, the mother pleaded: 
" Don't leave me John to face this crisis alone ! " and 
he had looked into her terrified eyes and promised to 
watch with her — and then after a little pouting and 
a few angry tears from Sarah, she had heard the front 
door close — heard laughter outside and knew she had 
been left to keep her vigil alone. So alone, unaided, 
she held the little racked and plunging form in its con- 
vulsive struggles — alone, she straightened the small 
limbs when they were quiet forever — and as she knelt 
by the dead child, she knew that something else had 
died that night and that was the old love for her 
husband ! 

A certain pitying kindness was all that she felt for 
him now ; and even before the body of their child had 
been carried to the grave John Purser had felt the 
change in her and had resented it passionately, for, 
she said, smiling sadly: " Men are made that way, 
you know ! They are very selfish and exacting ! " 

A weary soul-deadening year had passed. Sarah 
was urging her husband to take as a third wife her 
cousin — she wanted her for company she said, and he 
could well afford to support another wife, and almost 
daily she tried to get him to put away the first. 

And then it was he was stricken down with a fever, 
and the first wife it was who nursed and watched and 
waited, and hung upon the doctor's words — and 
blessed God that she had not been driven from the 



THE SHADOW OF THE TEMPLE 131 

house ! In his delirium he was nearly always back in 
the past — the blessed, safe, free past! Sometimes in 
a terrified whisper he betrayed secrets of the church 
that made her hair almost move upon her brow; and 
when he half recognised her, he would whisper: 
" Fly! fly! " Once he told her where to find a little 
money, and made her sew it into her corset; and then 
the end had come — he died and was buried; and 
smiling and smug the detested elder had offered to 
" seal " her for a " spiritual wife." She had rejected 
his proposal. Then he had offered to marry both the 
widows, by proxy. Her horror had got the better of 
her discretion — she had spoken plainly. All her 
hatred — her shame — her loathing — and — and — (the 
woman shook as she added) he had spoken then so 
plainly and made a threat so awful, she had nearly 
died of terror as she listened. The Prophet sanc- 
tioned his marriage to her and since she refused to 
obey the law — she should be destroyed ! 

As he left her, he had looked back to say: "I 
reckon you'll be at the Endowment House about next 
Thursday. The mark goes against your name to- 
day!" 

And she had fled that very night and had by the 
mercy of a Gentile, for whom she had done some 
sewing, been allowed to enter the cars as one of her 
travelling party. The money her husband had hidden 
away for her had not lasted long. She had only got 
this far toward the East. She kept in quiet places — 
she worked hard to support herself and save a little 
to carry her further toward safety. In another month 



1 32 THE LIFE OF A STAR 

she would have enough to leave this place, and once 
in the East — she stretched out her arms wide: 
" God! " she exclaimed; " God! " and drew a long, 
long breath ! 

I sat silent for a moment, swallowing down the 
lump in my throat, then I asked: "Have you ever 
been disturbed at all — since you fled? " 

" Have I? " she cried. " Twice I have been forced 
to leave a place, just as I stood ! Once I was declared 
to be a mad woman, escaped from an insane asylum ! 
I jumped from a second-story window that time! 
But here I've been undisturbed and almost at peace — 
until to-day! " 

She rose quickly and lifting the shade, peered 
anxiously into the darkness. " Those men — those 
strangers! Why should strangers find their way to 
that out of the way place? And if one of them was 
disguised why that was proof positive ! Then she had 
felt ever since she rose yesterday that calamity was 
hanging over her! " 

I laughed and said : " I am your calamity — I was 
hanging over you ! " 

She came back from the window and looked down 
on me as I lay in the cushions. She stroked my arm 
lightly, she spoke gently, almost tenderly: " An East- 
ern woman — a woman whose husband is her own — a 
woman from the place of safety? No, you are no 
calamity! " A queer faraway look came into her eyes, 
and she half whispered: " You are my witness! " 

She left me — I went to the car door with her. I 
did not like to see her go ; I felt a sudden sinking of 



THE SHADOW OF THE TEMPLE 133 

the heart. We stood on the platform, she looked up 
into the steady brilliancy of the stars. 

" How calm and sure they are," she said. " Up 
there one would be out of the shadow of the Temple 
as much as in the East," and after a silent grasp of 
the hand and a steady look in the eye, she left me — 
erect and quick-moving at the side of the porter who 
loomed up above her. 

I was but two days further on my way, when I saw 
in a local paper: 

" Tragic accident at S ," and read how some 

men — strangers — " who had been noticed by several 
people the day before, had wandered into a quiet 
street in the outskirts of the town and had suddenly 
begun to quarrel among themselves — had drawn re- 
volvers and fired a perfect fusillade. They must have 
been very much intoxicated, for not one of them was 
hurt — but the sad part of it was, a stray shot had 
passed through a window and instantly killed a most 
estimable woman — a Mrs. Wilton." 

I dropped the paper — I turned sick and faint. 
After a bit I looked at it again : " The strangers had 
disappeared during the confusion — an easy matter as 
the men-folk were all away in the mines. They had 
got out of town on a freight train and dropped off 
before the train reached the next station. While it 
was called an accident, many thought a crime had 
been committed." So it was with tear-drenched eyes 
I entered Salt Lake. 

That fair city of the Mountains — the jewel of 



i 3 4 THE LIFE OF A STAR 

great Utah — all girdled round with the living green 
of cultivated trees, and veined through and through 
with swift-running, sparkling water. Fair almost as 
the Vision City, that inspired and drew on that army 
of martyrs, who marched — staggered — even crept 
on hands and knees, through the God-forgotten des- 
ert into the fastness of the Mountains, following in 
agony the path taken in advance (and in perfect com- 
fort) by the Heads of the Church, and when the 
Prophet and his apostles came out to meet and wel- 
come the starved remnant of that devoted army, they 
thought their condition so laughable that they turned 
and rode aside to hide their gales of merriment, and 
with coarse oaths — swore they were a lot of moulting 
scarecrows ! But the half-crazed scarecrows on their 
knees saw but the City of their Dreams. 

Only the leaders practised polygamy then. The 
body of the people were religious enthusiasts, who 
knew nothing yet of the " Holy Doctrine," and those 
who lived had helped to build this goodly City of the 
Saints. 

At the hotel, I stood in my parlour window and 
looked over at the great turtle-like Tabernacle, where 
women had sat under public insult Sunday after Sun- 
day. I looked at the Temple, and to myself, I said: 
" Your mortar has been mixed with tears — you stand 
upon a foundation of broken hearts — you are covered 
and roofed over with the degradation of women ; but 
your towers and spires will lift their imprecations into 
the very face of Heaven ! " And as the tears slipped 
down my cheeks, I seemed to hear the gentle, fright- 



THE SHADOW OF THE TEMPLE 135 

ened voice of Mrs. Wilton, saying: " I am standing 
in the shadow of the Temple and I shall never be 
safe until I am in my grave ! " 

She is safe now, but the Temple casts a very black 
shadow still 1 



IX 
BRILLIANT FAILURES 

HAVE you ever been present as a witness of 
a brilliant failure? What a bitter-sweet ex- 
perience it is; at one moment you feel all 
the pride of a discoverer, at another you are over- 
whelmed with mortification that the city's best are 
not crowding to do honour to this artist's work ; then 
you are contemptuous of the critic's chill words of 
praise, and wonder bitterly if this desolation is caused 
by the need of a ubiquitous press-agent with a tropi- 
cal imagination. 

Marie Seebach was playing in New York and I 
longed passionately to see her. 

" Oh," said my prompter, one morning, " I 
wouldn't worry my head about her; she's playing to 
empty benches anyway." 

" What has that to do with her work? Germans 
are true lovers of acting, and in her own land she is 
honoured and esteemed, therefore she must be a fine 
actress; and, oh, I do want to see somebody worth 
honouring! " 

But Mr. Prompter was not to be moved to sym- 
pathy. " Bad business — bad acting," was his belief, 
though we both knew where some very indifferent act- 
ing was being done to packed houses nightly. 

Going home I found an old lady relative of Mr. 
136 



BRILLIANT FAILURES 



137 



Jefferson's (Mrs. Fisher) waiting to see me, and al- 
most the first thing she said was: " Well, I've had a 
treat! I'm passionately devoted to the play of ' Jane 
Eyre/ and I've seen every Jane in this country. Oh, 
yes, my dear, I saw you even in your single perform- 
ance for the Custer Monument, and the sooner you 
add the play to your repertoire the better, for you 
and the public. It's odd what different points ac- 
tresses will seize upon in the same play to make prom- 
inent. Now there's your exit in the first act, that 
silent agony when you were commanded to lay down 
the book you held clasped to your breast. The stolid, 
mulish resistance that had stiffened into one anguished 
gesture of vain appeal — then with drowned eyes and 
features quivering like a face reflected in troubled 
water, still speechless, you disappeared — ah, me! it's 
hard to wet old eyes, my dear, but mine were brim- 
ming, and my throat ached chokingly. But there 
spoke your own passion for books, my child — it tinc- 
tured your Jane distinctly. Last night I saw See- 
bach " 

" Yes? " I cried enviously. 

" Yes," she went on, " and I thought to find her 
too old at every point of the play, but believe me, she 
was quite perfect. Ugly — awkward — bony — fright- 
ened, she slunk and dodged about until her outburst 
came, and then, I swear to you, she frightened me — 
the furious cat ! Her pale eyes glared ; she hissed and 
spat her words at her aunt; she piled accusation upon 
accusation; reminded her of cold and hunger borne, 
of bruise and hurt and contemptuous sneer, but all 



138 THE LIFE OF A STAR 

the suffering of all the years were as nothing to the 
tortured child, in comparison with the agony of terror 
she had known, when forced by her cruel aunt to 
spend the night alone in the great curtained bed, in 
the big dark room, where her uncle had just died. 
My dear, never have I seen a terror like to that! 
She shrank together, she shook like a palsy. Her wild 
eyes darted nervous glances in all directions. Her 
voice grew shrill and high and her final cry : ' You left 
me there in the dead man's bed; in the dark and alone 
— alone — alone ! ' pierced my brain like a physical 
pain; and I saw men bite their lips and dart quick 
glances over their shoulders, so contagious was that 
awful fright ; and that great acting was witnessed by 
perhaps three hundred persons ! Ah, we are a strange 
people. We do, most assuredly, appreciate fine art 
when we see it, but our attention must be attracted to 
it by the beating of tom-toms; we can't trust a quiet 
announcement. We are like the young bees, that 
ignore all gentle persuasion to enter a beautiful and 
convenient hive, while the dinner-horn and the rat- 
tling of tin pans will bring them safely swarming into 
a section of hollow log or a hole in a tumble-down 
chimney. The Madam has not beaten the tom-tom, 
I'm sure." 

After that I was still more eager and anxious, for 
this lady spoke with authority, as she had herself been 
an actress in the old days of Burton's management; 
had been a friend of Charlotte Cushman, when the 
latter had turned from singing to acting and was 
hampered by her unusual height and her deep voice. 



BRILLIANT FAILURES 139 

From that period too dated the legend of Cushman's 
solemn, secret profanity. She was most wofully awk- 
ward with her needle it seems, and for one play she 
had invariably to take the front breadth out of her 
cotton velvet gown, that it might be trimmed and 
looped up over a satin petticoat. She stood before the 
cast-case and saw the detested tragedy announced 
again for next day's rehearsal, and in her deepest tone 
remarked: " There's another sore thumb in store for 

me. D that play anyway — (pause) — and the 

man who wrote it — (pause) — and — and the fool 
who keeps putting it on the bill every week or two — 

d him too ! " and she stalked away like a young 

grenadier in petticoats. 

After acting at matinee, I was spared the Saturday 
night performance and I went to see Seebach. If the 
night was dismal — the theatre was a desolation. In 
the foggy atmosphere the lights burned blue and dim. 
The overture was late, slow and spiritless. The turn- 
ing up of the lights however revealed the agreeable 
fact that the audience made up in quality what was 
lacking in quantity, and most of the people there bore 
names that would honour any list of " Among those 
present were," had the ubiquitous one only been on 
hand to take them down. 

The play was " Adrienne Lecouvreur." The 
scenery was old and tawdry and finger marked; the 
furniture shabby; but the costuming was correct and 
the work of the company was excellent. Undoubtedly 
Marie Seebach's first appearance was disappointing 
to an audience. She was one of those women who are 



i 4 o THE LIFE OF A STAR 

prettier in private life than on the stage. She had a 
fine head, but her wigs were poor and marred its 
shape. Her nose was very prominent. She was a 
blonde — not of the luxuriant and golden type, but of 
the quiet, unobtrusive, flaxen order. She did not 
make up very skilfully either, and her gowns of cor- 
rect design and of rich material were most vilely 
fitted. Most of them were cut very low and after 
the early Victoria fashion — clear off the shoulder. I 
think she must have lost much flesh after their mak- 
ing, for they merely hung upon her thin figure, and 
slipped and slid and kept her busy clutching at first 
one shoulder and then the other in a distressful ef- 
fort to keep her waist from dropping quite below 
any point sanctioned by the proprieties. It was evi- 
dently an old habit, too, for in the middle of her 
lover's tenderest speech, at the most tense moment of 
a critical situation, up went the shoulder, clutch went 
the thin white hand at the slipping waist. It was very 
trying to the nerves of the lookers-on. Women felt 
like crying — men felt like swearing, and one who sat 
on my left, snapped out to his companion : " Oh, 
why don't she let that thing drop, mother, and do 
her acting in her petticoat? " 

I received proof that night that history repeats 
itself, even in the matter of absurdities. Most of us 
recall with what impish glee Miss Rhoda Broughton 
makes the homeliest man in town roar out to the 
lovely heroine, in the sudden stoppage of the waltz 
music: "Oh, call me just plain William!" Else- 
where in a church, crowded to suffocation, it hap- 



BRILLIANT FAILURES 141 

pened that the thunder of the organ ceased with 
such amazing suddenness that every person in the 
sacred edifice heard a fretful voice declare, " Well, 
we cook ours in butter! " And here in this theatre, 
between the third and fourth acts, the ancient joke 
was played again. The overture was very noisy; the 
victim, being an outsider, did not of course notice the 
signal to the leader of the flashed footlights, and sud- 
denly, unexpectedly, the music fell away into a silence, 
broken only by an eager young voice saying : " You 
call it a tucker, and a ribbon draws it up all nice and 

close around the " Oh, scarlet face and startled 

eyes, what waves of laughter swept up to your burn- 
ing ears and beat about your box! Not malicious 
merriment over the mortifying small mishap, but the 
people hearing of the tucker that a ribbon drew nice 
and close, had with quick wit fitted it to the too low, 
too loose corsage of the actress, and laughed com- 
prehendingly and long. 

It was surprising how soon this plain, almost in- 
significant woman actor began to dominate her audi- 
ence. First you recognised an intellect, clear, 
calm, strong; then as you became eager, alert, the 
skill, the polish, the authority of the trained artiste 
shone forth to your delight. For myself, at that 
point I was conscious of a firm resolve to study with 
all my heart and soul the beautiful method of the 
great German before me. When her lips twisted into 
so forced a smile, such dog-like pleading filled her 
eyes, even while she was sweeping her stately curtsey 
and speaking over her shoulder indifferent high 



1 42 THE LIFE OF A STAR 

words, that fascinated by the glimpse of suffering 
womanhood held in thrall, I wondered only if she 
were strong enough to hold her own against enemies 
so crafty. My spirits went up — went down, as she 
was succeeding or failing; but the method, the 
school — dear Heaven, what had become of my study 
of method, manner, school? 

She was, I think, the greatest Adrienne I ever saw. 
She was less brilliant. Her love was not of the 
tigress order; it seemed to be a tender idolatry. She 
believed the Count de Saxe so readily when he ex- 
plained away her jealousy; indeed she seemed ever 
piteously eager for an excuse to forgive him. 

Her business over the returned bouquet, I shall 
never forget. She had taken the fatal kiss from its 
poisoned petals, and with the sorrowful words: 

" Thus ends all memory of him and of my love! " 

— she slowly turned, dropped the flowers into the 
grate and stood looking down upon them in a sort of 
frozen despair. When suddenly a tiny flame quivered 
up through the leaves and stems — she gave a faint 
cry, a wave of tenderest love swept across her face. 
She caught back her sleeve and with bare arm and 
hand snatched desperately but vainly at the burning 
token that flamed up fiercely and went black — out. 
Then stretching her empty hands piteously over the 
little grey pile of ash, with a heavy sob she fell upon 
her face. Figuratively speaking I went upon my 
knees to her — the house was quite wild and bravas 
filled the air. 



BRILLIANT FAILURES 143 

In one respect Madam Seebach was intensely 
original it seemed to me, in that she subtly conveyed 
the impression that Adrienne never quite forgot her 
lowly station; never forgot the superior birth of 
those about her; that she was but a favourite toy of 
the Court, though the idol of the public. The lines 
in the 4th act, that most Adriennes speak satirically, 
she spoke with great and modest sincerity. When at 
the hotel of the Princess de Bouillon, Michonnet says 
aside, speaking of Adrienne, 

"She looks as great a lady as the best of them/' 

she herself remarks: 

" In truth, I am confused by so much honour — 
you and these ladies who have deigned to receive me, 
afford the humble artist the opportunity of studying 
that exquisite style, that elegance of carriage, which 
you alone possess." 

And really, I think a little study of the scene justi- 
fies her reading as the correct one. Even in the great 
speech from " Phedre," her restraint of manner was 
wonderful. She trusted to the strength of the recited 
words alone, leaving others to apply their meaning 
to the Princess, if they chose. Every other Adrienne 
I have ever seen (even Bernhardt's and Modjeska's) 
makes the insult deliberately intentional, approach- 
ing the Princess and pointing the finger of scorn at 
her very brow, at the last line, 

" Unblushing wantons, who know not what is shame! " 



i 4 4 THE LIFE OF A STAR 

Of course the latter is the more dramatic, but I had 
to admire the consistency of the artiste who sacrificed 
a great point, rather than let her character get out 
of drawing. So, to the last scene, pathetic, idola- 
trously loving, failing, failing — fading; she avoided 
the horrors the scene tempts an actress to. Only 
she was tortured into a wild cry for " Life ! life ! " 
After that, gently, uncomplainingly, she sank away, 
and in some mysterious manner she seemed to col- 
lapse, to shrink bodily, just as her voice weakened 
and waxed faint, weaker, till at the end it might have 
been the body of a child that lay in the chair, with 
ghastly, upturned face. 

It had been a beautiful performance. With hearty 
gratitude I did my share to bring the distinguished 
woman before the curtain many times; and she 
seemed much pleased by the warmth of the people, 
and smiled so brightly, waved her hand so graciously, 
that we had half a mind and a strong inclination to 
sit down again and chat a while with her. 

In the lobby, the pouring of the rain could be 
plainly heard, but not a face darkened; everyone in 
that small crowd was exclaiming aloud : " Delight- 
ful!" "Is she not an accomplished creature? " 
" How glad I am we came ! " — could constantly be 
heard; and recalling the fine performance, as I gave 
a final glance at that small, yet delighted crowd, I 
said to myself: " Clara, my dear, you have seen this 
night a most brilliant failure. It's easy enough to 
place the brilliancy correctly, but to whom must the 
failure be charged? To the public — or to the man- 



BRILLIANT FAILURES 145 

ager? " Suddenly I thought of Mrs. Fisher's speech 
about the bees and the tom-toms. I laughed rather 
ruefully, but I accepted her conclusion. Madame 
Seebach, herself an artiste, had not deigned to beat 
the tom-tom, hence this brilliant failure. 



X 

A CRUCIAL MOMENT 

TO this day I feel a faint, creepy chill along 
my spine when I recall the first year of my 
career as a " star " and that crucial moment 
when my fate hung in the balance — when Boston's 
steady hand held the scales and Boston's voice was 
to decide for or against me. I dry my forehead now 
when I think of it. 

It must be remembered that in the old days of the 
American stage a star was more absolutely, more 
utterly dependent upon the favour of the public than 
she is to-day. With the evolution of the press-agent 
yet undreamed of, and the " angel " or " backer " 
almost unknown, the situation was simple as stern. 
If the public liked you and rolled its dollars blithely 
into the box-office drawer you were a proud and 
happy star. If the public was bored by you, no 
dollars came with which to pay printers' bills, hotel 
and travelling bills: lo, you were a humiliating fail- 
ure! All the expensive and complicated machinery 
that is used to-day to force a success was undreamed 
of then. 

In those days, too, there was a solemn awe which 
that august name, Boston, inspired in the dramatic 
breast. To have played a season in any Boston 
theatre meant an addition of at least five dollars a 
week to the salary of either man or woman in the 

146 



A CRUCIAL MOMENT 147 

" stock " ; while to have played in the old Boston 
Museum meant a pale, but to the eyes of the faithful 
a visible halo hovering about the head. New York? 
Do not mistake me, for then, as now, New York was 
the beautiful, glittering Mecca toward which every 
eye turned longingly. For a success in New York one 
would risk one's life, but for a success in Boston — 
intellectual, coldly, keenly critical Boston — there were 
those who would have risked their immortal souls ! 

And so from my earliest youth had I heard Boston 
exalted, and by the time I was seventeen years old, 
I could frighten myself cold and stiff by the simple 
device of pretending I had to open in Boston that 
night. 

Finally, when the years of hard work had gone by, 
each leaving me some tiny particles of the golden dust 
of knowledge, together with a keener observation 
and a truer appreciation of those above me, the dread- 
ful trial came. The Boston engagement was to cover 
the last two weeks of my first season as a star. Worn 
to a shadow — unceasing pain, much travel, hard 
work and mental anxiety had brought the end of my 
tether well into view, so far as physical endurance 
was concerned; and as " Camille " was the play for 
the first week and " Miss Multon " for the second, 
an almost unbearable strain was entailed upon me, 
in that while acting a five-act play I should have also 
to rehearse every day " Miss Multon's " five acts 
with a company that had never seen the play. 

So it happened that I faced my trial engagement 
in the worst possible shape, and as I left my dressing- 



148 THE LIFE OF A STAR 

room before the rise of the curtain, the doctor ex- 
claimed fretfully: " You're playing this engagement 
on your naked nerves. " 

And I turned to suggest solemnly, " Undraped 
nerves, please, doctor; do remember this is Boston, 
where even people's thoughts are properly clothed." 
Another moment and I had taken the plunge and was 
standing with bowed head trying to get back my 
breath, and dimly realising that this reception was 
not the courteous, cool greeting I had expected, but 
was full of hearty warmth that meant — welcome. 
And it suddenly dawned on me that if I failed to 
come up to its expectations, this great audience would 
be — sorry. An immense gratitude filled my heart; 
every instinct I ever had for acting seemed to spring 
up, alert and eager. My one desire for the moment 
was to prove to these people that in the sin-weary 
soul which Camille dragged about in her disease- 
smitten slow-dying body there still existed the tiny 
spark divine, and that blown upon by a true love it 
might kindle into the steady, white flame of self- 
sacrifice. For a time my fears fell from me — I forgot 
in what city I was. 

. In the third act there was a wordless point which 
in other cities I had tried to make, but if it had suc- 
ceeded there had been no recognition made in either 
applause or in criticism. To me, personally, it always 
seemed that at old man Duval's first mention of his 
daughter, Camille chilled with the breath of coming 
doom; that vaguely, uncertainly, she felt in the crystal 
purity of that girl's character the Juggernaut before 



A CRUCIAL MOMENT 149 

which she and her late-blooming love were to be cast. 
So, seated at the table that night, Camille, with 
nervous, never-resting fingers plaiting and unplaiting 
the cover, listened unmoved to all arguments, until 
Duval pere said: "I have a daughter (the busy 
fingers paused) — young — beautiful — and pure as an 
angel." At the word " pure " her hands fell. Then, 
like a timid animal scenting danger, Camillas 
frightened eyes stared straight into vacancy, while 
all breathless, motionless, she waited her doom to 
shape itself, take form, as it did in the words : " She 
loves as you do — but the family of the man she is 
about to marry has heard of you and " 

The words were crossed by sudden applause, 
steady, sustained, comprehensive; and joy rose to 
my very lips. These people understood what I had 
tried all dumbly to express. Ah, I thought, truly this 
is Boston! 

Then at last, when all was over, we faced each 
other with wet eyes but smiling lips, and standing 
beaming, bowing, it seemed to me that through the 
great roar I was conscious of each concomitant hand- 
clap, cane-thump or foot-stamp, every breaking out 
of a soppy little handkerchief or broader flutter of 
a bigger, dryer one. Then the leader of the orchestra 
stood boldly up and heartily applauded — a mighty 
compliment that, and I, who did not know him yet 
other than that he was a musician of parts, swept him 
in return the deepest courtesy I could reach short of 
sitting down flat before him; and in thus pleasing 
myself I pleased the house, for the leader was no 



i 5 o THE LIFE OF A STAR 

other than Mr. Napier Lothian, and a mighty man 
in Boston's musical circles. 

Oh, but I was happy! For was not this Boston 
that smiled upon me ! So, believing myself out of the 
woods of doubt and fear, I felt free to halloo my 
gratitude, my surprise and joy to all the points of the 
compass! I never dreamed that eight days later I 
should face them again in a terror compared to 
which to-night's would seem composure — on trial 
again not merely as an actress, but as a woman 
charged with an error without precedent in theatrical 
history. 

In " Camille " I had been supported by the local 
company, and their work had been excellent. They 
were clever, experienced players, and as I had 
brought with me two young girls to play Jane and 
Paul in " Miss Multon," I looked forward to an 
exceptionally fine performance of it, and worked 
hard toward that end with a very passion of energy 
that filled the manager with anxiety lest this thor- 
ough training of the company should leave me 
bankrupt of strength for my own hard part. 

The ladies of the cast were the first to know their 
lines, the first to comprehend the story of the play and 
to grasp the meaning of its " situations " and to 
hold them. But with the men I could wear out my 
throat, my strength and my patience in the clearest 
possible explanations of delicate and important bits 
of business, only to find that next day the entire 
matter had been forgotten ; and, worse, the instructed 
ones were still imperfect in their lines. 



A CRUCIAL MOMENT 151 

Too late for the knowledge to be of service to me, 
I discovered the cause of this cruel indifference to 
the fate of the new play. 

It was one of the cast who said to another: " Well, 
I'm blest if you know your few lines yet, and my con- 
science ! how that woman has worked over you ! " 

" Over me ! — better say over the old man. He's 
going to go all to pieces — you mark now. That part 

is a terror, and you know how S likes to put off 

study and ' wing ' his lines. But he'll come down 
like a thousand of brick this time." 

" Ah, well," returned the other, " who wants to 
break himself over a new part the last week of the 
season? And even if a paper gives you a black eye, 
what of it — before next season opens it'll be for- 
gotten. A new play for the closing week! " 

In these brutally frank words I found corrobo- 
ration of my worst fears, which from the first had 

gathered about Mr. S , who was cast for the 

beautiful, lovable, dignified old Belin, tutor to the 
two children, even as he had been tutor to their 
father before them. 

Here, then, in Boston — of all places on earth — I 
was to meet not opposition but inertia ! 

Few plays contain as difficult a scene as that of 
Beliris in the second act of " Miss Multon." He 
alone holds all the threads of this dreadful domestic 
tangle. Every soul in that family, guilty or innocent, 
has a hand upon his heartstrings. He owes love and 
gratitude to all who bear the honourable name of De 
la Tour. Trying from one to hide his guilty knowl- 



1 52 THE LIFE OF A STAR 

edge behind a mask of childlike candour and inno- 
cence; addressing Miss Multon openly in terms of 
chill reserve and formality, but secretly with trem- 
bling, piteous entreaty; attempting to serve all, he 
quite naturally comes to grief — but in the coming, 
what splendid chances for acting, as New York 
proved by its glad acclaim of Mr. John Parselle 
as an artist par excellence in this same part of 
Belin. 

That in this part an actor has need of all his 
quickness and certainty of action, to say naught of 
perfect memory, a single speech delivered by Sarah 
Multon, with its attendant business for Belin, will 
indicate. The open lines are Miss Multon* s> those 
in parentheses Belin } s business. 

"Monsieur Belin! (he turns sharply away); 
Monsieur Belin! (he trembles violently, folds his 
arms and holds position) ; will you be the one to 
say, ' Do not receive this woman (he weeps), she is 
not Sarah Multon — she is Fernande '? (face hidden, 
throws out left hand in entreaty) . Now look at me, 
Monsieur Belin — look, I say! (she grasps his hand 
and he turns very slowly and in utter dread) and 
learn to understand me better, sir! If you do not aid 
me to remain here; if you drive me away — I living, 
you know the result! That marriage is void — that 
woman is no longer his wife ! (with a cry of anguish 
he extends clasped hands and implores, etc.)" 

So in this single speech Belin finds six cues to re- 
member instead of the usual one. Truly one needs 
to be letter-perfect in such a part. 



A CRUCIAL MOMENT 153 

Well, it had to come, that Monday night, and 
when I saw the big house and noted the air of sup- 
pressed excitement, the tears rushed to my eyes — 
tears of nerve-worn self-pity. 

"Am I ready? Yes," I answered to the inquiring 
call-boy; and the next moment the curtain was up, 
and the scene at the doctor's office in London was 
going on, and it was really going well. Yes, the 
servant was sputtering and confused; the old bach- 
elor doctor and old maid sister snapped and snarled 
deliciously in a laboriously vain effort to hide their 
mutual affection; the audience laughed heartily (oh, 
blessed sound!) ; then the "charity children" tum- 
bled on, and then, grey-haired, grey-cloaked, bon- 
neted and gloved, a sort of ashen, sad woman, Miss 
Multon was softly crossing the stage, through that 
perfect stillness that brings a thrill of triumph to 
the actress whose art has so far hidden her identity 
that her own personality is obscured by that of the 
character she is representing. 

With my first words, " What toys? " came recog- 
nition and a storm of applause that rocked me back 
and forth as a tempest might have done. But 
secret fear was racking me; self-control was go- 
ing. My face worked painfully, tears rose to my 
eyes, when — I almost feel it still — the circling 
warmth and comfort of the sturdy little arm that 
slipped strongly about my swaying body; I almost 
hear again the friendly voice whispering quickly: 
"Don't — don't break, dear; think of the part you 
play ! " Clever old actress, how well she knew what 



i 5 4 THE LIFE OF A STAR 

note to sound : " Think of the part ! " One mo- 
ment I clung to her, the next I had slipped safely 
back into the character of the sorrow-numbed, ashen- 
grey Miss Mutton. The first curtain fell upon gen- 
uine success. There had been errors, several of them ; 
but they had been of so slight a nature that the audi- 
ence had not detected them. 

As I hurried to my room, I caught sight of a man 
in a distant entrance tramping wildly up and down 
with a part in his hand — which part he was studying 
with might and main. It was Belin. I spoke no word, 
but my heart fell swift and heavy as a plummet. 

The second act was on, and as I came to my place 
of waiting for my cue, I distinctly heard the children 
prompting. Oh, I groaned, he cannot already have 
come to grief! I hurried to an opening and looked 
on the stage. That most tender and moving scene 
where the children {Jane and Paul) beg their tutor 
to drop lessons for a few moments, in order to tell 
them of their dear, dead mother, whom they love 
and can still faintly remember, was being turned into 
ridicule by the honest but unskilled efforts of the 
children to prompt the actor in his lines. They knew 
naught of the trick of looking in an opposite direc- 
tion while softly passing the missing word to the 
person in trouble ; they simply blurted out the correct 
line, looking squarely at him and greatly amusing 
the audience by their superior knowledge — and that 
was the beginning of the end. 

Never, no, never, in my most overworked days in 
the West, had I taken part in a performance like 



A CRUCIAL MOMENT 155 

this. Most important situations were ignored be- 
cause Mr. S — — dared not leave the prompt-side 
of the stage and get beyond the prompter's voice. 
Others grew confused by that and in turn forgot 
their lines. Someone missed a cue and did not go on 
until after an agonising wait. 

Then came the big scene between Belin and Miss 
Mutton, It was a scene for gods and men alike to 
wonder over. All the delicate side-play was wiped 
out of existence. Acting — there was none. The whole 
thing degenerated into a wild catch-as-catch-can strug- 
gle for the bare lines. This was no polished gentle- 
man and scholarly old bookworm, but a dishevelled, 
flustered, sputtering old man, who had utterly lost 
his bearings, and who cast into the French play now 
and again a few American colloquialisms, so that the 
people roared with laughter. Still I grimly fought on, 
trying to maintain the woman's personal dignity 
and tragic intensity, until this happened: He should 
have turned his back upon me, as we had so often re- 
hearsed, but instead he stood gazing toward me. 
Between my teeth I said to him: "Turn away — 
turn away, please." Then I resumed: "Monsieur 
Belin, will you be the one to say (stay where you are) 
4 Do not receive this woman : she is not Sarah Multon 
— she is Fernande'? (For God's sake, sir, turn 
away!)" Then with intense determination I said: 
" Now look at me, Monsieur Belin, and understand 
me better! " 

It was too much ! My aside instructions had been 
overheard; and to cap all he had turned and like a 



156 THE LIFE OF A STAR 

great boy, stammered: " Y-y-yes, ma r am." Swift 
laughter ran over the house, and I realised that when 
the wave of ridicule includes the heroine the play is 
dead. 

I was dazed — chilled! Some way I reached the 
end, and the curtain fell on utter disaster. One or 
two persons patted me on the shoulder and said: 
"What a shame! " Then it all rushed over me in 
one great wave! The outrage upon the author, the 
insult to the public and my own undeserved downfall. 
Turning about I said to the prompter: " Dismiss 
those people, please." 

Everyone stood stock still and stared unbeliev- 
ingly at me. 

I repeated sharply, " Dismiss that audience ! If 
you do not care to assume the responsibility send for 
the manager ! When this company knows its lines we 
will present the play again — not before ! " and burst- 
ing into dry, tearless sobs and gasps of excitement I 
rushed toward my dressing-room. 

Shall I ever forget the scene that followed? Above 
the playing of the overture rose a very Babel. My 
own name came to me in tones of entreaty, of warn- 
ing, of almost childish pleading. The beloved little 
woman who played Miss Osborne patted my hands 
and said : " My dear, my dear ! they have driven 
you quite out of your head, but — but you can't dis- 
miss the audience ! " 

I lifted her plump, small hand to my lips and 
whispered: " I must — the people do not know their 
lines." 



A CRUCIAL MOMENT 157 

" Dree your ain weird! " she said curtly, and fell 
away from me. 

The working forces of the theatre gathered, a 
shirt-sleeved group, about me, as I moved toward 
my room, expressing a sympathy with me and a red- 
hot willingness to wipe up the stage with the recal- 
citrant actors in the morning; advising me to go for 
them through the papers, but assuring me as one 
man that Boston " was queer an' wouldn't stand no 
turnin' out of lights on 'em." 

Then suddenly through the crowd broke dear old 
" Dan " Maguinnes. During my successful first 
week Dan had laughingly boasted of his friendship, 
saying of me : "I knew her in Halifax, where she 
helped nurse my sick sister, and when she was No- 
body of Nowhere ; and just three weeks later she was 
the biggest sort of Somebody of a New York 
Theatre." 

Dan was a good and a very careful actor, and I 
hoped, as he rushed toward me, that he at least un- 
derstood and had come to approve my action. Alas, 
his anger was hot. He began to bluster. He admit- 
ted that the eccentricities of Belin had played havoc 
with the play, but I must go on, or — or he was done 
with me. 

The rumour of trouble had reached the music- 
room, and Mr. Lothian, the leader, came like a 
whirling dervish upon the scene. I had been very 
proud of his warm approval of my work the week 
before. 

Besides being a brilliant musician he was a witty, 



158 THE LIFE OF A STAR 

jolly, big-hearted man whom I liked amazingly, and 
though he used rather rough arguments against me 
then I was convinced that he believed he was acting 
for my own good. Again I wearily repeated : " When 
these people know their lines I will offer the play — 
not before ! " 

A violent oath broke from him: "Then you'll 
never present the play in this city ! Dismiss that au- 
dience and you will never be allowed on a local stage 
again. I know Boston better than I know my oldest 
scores, and it never forgives ! But go your own way 
and be hanged to you ! " As he rushed from me I 
heard him say to Maguinnes : " With all her gifts 
she's dead and done for now ! " 

Then Mr. Orlando Tompkins (the manager) ap- 
proached with Mr. S at his side, bowing pro- 
fusely and talking rapidly. 

I reached my room at last, and after the imme- 
morial habit of the outnumbered, placed my back to 
the wall and with the regularity of a minute-gun 
fired at all comers my one dogged, set speech, " When 
these people know their lines I will offer the play — 
not before ! " 

In that excited crowd Mr. Tompkins was a really 
impressive figure, and though his disquiet, perplexity, 
and worry deepened into most obvious anger at times, 
he maintained his dignity throughout and never used 
a rough or churlish word. Swiftly I described what 
had occurred and my following resolve. 

The manager looked hard at Mr. S , who 

shuffled, rubbed hands and finally acknowledged that 



A CRUCIAL MOMENT 159 

" The — er — action — er — had been a trifle ragged, 
and perhaps had dragged a little, but — er " 

I interrupted: "The play has been broken into 
pieces — spat upon, and cast down for the amuse- 
ment of the groundlings out there ! " 

But Mr. Tompkins said soothingly : " Well, you 
have done your best; and as the second overture is 
on, we will withdraw while you change your dress 
and get on with the next act. Perhaps it will redeem 
this disaster." 

I shook my head : " We are not living in the age 
of miracles. Sir, this play is dead. Only when the 
people know their lines will I attempt to offer it 
again ! " 

His face flushed, but his manner remained calm. 
"Miss Morris, what possesses you?" he asked. 
" Your action is incredible ; it has no precedent in the 
history of the stage. No audience was ever dismissed 
before for such a reason. You have no rule to sus- 
tain you ! " 

"You may be right," I answered; "but I am 
acting on principle. Honest dealing with the public 
has been my religion. This audience paid its money 
to see the play that delighted New York for months. 
That was what we promised it. Well, is this the New 
York play? You know it is not. No, I will not fur- 
ther insult the intelligence of these people by offering 
them three more acts of hopeless imbecility ! " 

Mr. Tompkins, speaking more sharply than be- 
fore, asked: "Do you know what this action will 
cost you, Miss Morris? " 



160 THE LIFE OF A STAR 

My lips quivered a little as I replied : " Do you 
mean my engagement? Well, that must rest with 
you, sir." 

" I mean that Boston will have nothing more to 
do with you." 

Nervously, excitedly, I laughed: "Then some 
other city must provide my beans — and I'll cut out 
the brown bread, since Boston alone can produce it." 

" Believe me," he continued, " you will not find 
this a jesting matter. Only when Boston has rejected 
you will you begin to find how far her power reaches ; 
how many cities are influenced by her judgment; how 
her disfavour will go far toward ruining a young 
star." 

At that moment I caught sight, in the crowd out- 
side the open door, of my own agent. He was very 
pale, and as his eyes met mine he shook his head and 
made a warning gesture. That almost broke me 
down, but I swallowed the lump in my throat and 
started up the minute-gun again: " When your peo- 
ple know their lines I will offer the play again — not 
before!" 

The overture had ended — an ominous stamping of 
feet and shrill whistling followed. Mr. Tompkins 

turned to Mr. S , and said: " She is immovable 

— dismiss the audience." 

With almost a groan of relief, I reached up an 
arm for my big cloak, when I caught from Mr. 

S 's low-toned answer two most illuminating 

words: " Her sickness? " 

Then my temper broke. With a cry of wrath I 



A CRUCIAL MOMENT 161 

sprang at the man and caught him by the wrist. 
"Dare!" I gasped. "You dare to go before the 
curtain and charge this fiasco to sickness of mine, 
and at your very first word I will appear at the 
opposite side and tell the people the whole truth. 
Now go! — but I shall listen to every word, mind 
you ! You have made of me a thing of ridicule to- 
night, but you shall not use me for a scapegoat 
besides! " 

He went down to the right of the stage, and like 
a wild thing I flew down to the left. The gentleman 
appeared before the curtain — silence fell. He 
coughed and glanced anxiously across to where I 
stood — bowed — regretted appearing as an apologist 
— er — er, but owing to (faint mumble, then the 
clearer words) being too much overworked — (the 
curtain trembled, he glanced apprehensively again 
where I was, and saw a long, nervous hand drawing 
it back and a foot already extended for the step 
forward, gave a sort of gurgle of dismay and con- 
tinued) — and — er — in truth the — er — company have 
not had sufficient time for preparation, and Miss 
Morris (a wild glance at me), feeling the play suf- 
fers by such representation, thinks — er — best to dis- 
miss the audience and " And so went on ex- 
plaining about the return of money or exchange of 
tickets, etc., and finally stammered his way off. 

For a moment the people sat quite still — then a 
lady in a box drew a long breath and said to her 
escort : " Well, I think she's a brave woman ! " The 
audience rose and slowly went out. 



1 62 THE LIFE OF A STAR 

My husband met me with the big cloak. " Don't 
wait to dress," he said, " you are ghastly! Get home 
as quickly as you can. The maid will attend to every- 
thing." 

As I passed there was no longer a crowd about 
me — all held aloof. Two persons near the door to 
whom I said " Good-night " seemed not to hear me. 
A woman crowded past me with quite unnecessary 
rudeness, and I realised with a pang that so far as 
theatrical Boston was concerned I was a fallen idol. 
Now, what would critical Boston do to me, I won- 
dered dully. My husband and my agent went out 
to visit popular resorts and the newspaper offices, to 
find out which way the wind blew in this teapot 
tempest. 

I had a woman friend with me that week, and as 
we sat at our little supper-table and I merely crum- 
bled bread by the side of my plate, she begged me to 
go to my room and to bed — so I withdrew. But how 
could I go to bed when I could not say my prayers ; 
and how could I say my prayers when every time I 
closed my eyes, angry, resentful faces crowded be- 
fore me, and instead of repeating the comforting 

words beginning, " Our Father " with dismay I 

heard my own voice mechanically muttering again 
and again, "I thought I was right! — I thought I 
was right ! " ? 

Dejectedly I gave up the effort and softly paced 
back and forth, until I heard my agent come in and 
speak to my friend. As I entered he was saying that 
a cabal was forming to give me a rough greeting at 



A CRUCIAL MOMENT 163 

my next appearance, as punishment for coming from 
New York to insult Boston's favourite actors. 

" Hisses ! " I sat down suddenly and went red with 
shame at the mere thought of being hissed. At last I 
said: "Well, what is to be will be! I'm glad you 
warned me." 

Then he told me the play was called for rehearsal 
next morning — dead letter perfect — without the 
slightest aid from the prompter. The papers would 
announce the performance for to-morrow night, and 
— and, well, a couple of reporters had suggested in 
a friendly way, that it would be just as well for me 
to be taken sick late in the afternoon, and so spare 
myself an unpleasant experience. 

" What! " I cried; "back down — run away? I'll 
act that part if I have to lean on the arm of a police- 
man!" 

My husband then came in. He had visited several 
newspaper offices, and had found them all greatly 
interested, all courteous, if a trifle reserved. One 
critic had said: " She has done to-night what should 
have been done earlier in the season. She has given 
these people a much-needed lesson, all of which I 
shall say in to-morrow's paper." 

Like a bullet from a revolver, I shot into my own 
room, "Oh!" I cried, as I threw off my robe de 
chambre, and " Oh! " again at the thought that one 
person had a good word for me, even though he mis- 
understood the motive of my action. And such is the 
power of a kind word that I clasped my hands, and 
kneeling again with a heart that seemed to soar up- 



1 64 THE LIFE OF A STAR 

ward like a bird, whispered the blessed, comforting 
" Our Father," and not one frowning face distracted 
my attention. 

Tuesday, more like a ghost than a woman, I 
agonised silently till evening; then went to the 
theatre. The house filled slowly. While dressing I 
heard the piteous tale of the lady who desired to be 
released from her part because she would have to 
share the hissing meant for me, and it would surely 
kill her. 

" Well," I said, " I don't believe there's an au- 
dience in America that could be driven into hissing 
a woman." Brave words; but oh, what a sick fear 
lay deep in my heart ! 

Another who was sure of the hissing was Mr. 
Lothian, whose kind heart prompted him to make an 
effort to save me, as he said to my manager : " Don't 
let her go on. Say she's sick — Lord knows she looks 
it. Say she's broken her leg or — or swallowed a 
toothbrush; anything! — but don't let her go on the 
stage." 

As I came to take my place for the first act, one 
single person answered my " Good-evening," she 
who played Miss Osborne. I had been told that many 
of last night's people were here again, and I saw that 
the same parties occupied the stage-boxes. I would 
not like to live through many moments like that last 
one preceding my entrance, when I was bracing my- 
self for a calm acceptance of the worst. 

I entered, and once more faced critical Boston. 
With clenched hands I stood silently in the doorway, 



A CRUCIAL MOMENT 



165 



my nails cut through the tips of my gloves, and then 
short, sharp, rather scattering, came a round of ap- 
plause. I saw Mr. Lothian turn in his chair and 
cast an amazed glance at the house. There had been 
no kindness, no warmth in that greeting ; it was like 
a dash of water in the face — never yet have I misread 
my audience. I understood it then. " You are on 
trial," it said; " but Boston is not to be rushed. You 
shall have justice — never fear." 

It was all so different from last night — from that 
almost affectionate welcome — that I could have cried 
like a great baby; but my head went up with a jerk, 
in grave acceptance of their terms. My future hung 
upon Boston's verdict — let the trial go on! 

The first act thawed them a bit. The second — 
dear God, were ever mouth and throat parched like 
that before — was ever body shaken by such quiver- 
ing nerves? Oh, I thought, will Boston misunder- 
stand me, too, and think I have insulted where I 
meant only to honour her? With wet temples I lis- 
tened. The scene with the children was over, and the 
lines had been correctly given. My card was then 
handed to Belin — the crucial moment had arrived! 

Yes, truly, for I was on the stage, silently facing 
my last night's foe who had worked me such fell 
disaster. The stillness of the house was intense. Our 
scene, starting with the ordinary conventionalities 
of introduction by letter, led rapidly to horror- 
stricken recognition of the supposed dead Fernande 
in the living Sarah Multon t whose frantic story of 
the treachery practised against her, of the fatalities, 



1 66 THE LIFE OF A STAR 

errors, and of the anguish borne, wrung unwilling 
sympathy from the weak old man, as incapable of 
resisting her entreaties as he was of ignoring her mad 
threats. 

But this was another being, this bewildered, 
shocked old gentleman, who neither shuffled nor 
stammered malapropos remarks, nor grew untidy and 
dishevelled. I was free then — free ! I need no longer 
watch lest he went to the wrong side and threw out 
someone else by doing so. Everyone knew what to 
say, and said it. Mathilde walked lightly, smilingly, 
on the edge of the crater; De la Tour was eloquent; 
the children were joyous, mischievous, natural; the 
servant was prompt to the instant. At last I could 
fling the weight of the whole play from off my over- 
burdened shoulders. I had but one part to play now 
— Sarah Mutton — and I played it to the last ounce 
of my strength, to the last fibre of nerve — played it 
as if a soul were the stake, not the favour of a city — 
" whirling like a lightning-charged grey tempest 
through the act," as one critic worded it the next 
morning. The curtain fell. The thud of its striking 
was followed by a burst of applause, long and loud. 

" Clear for Miss Morris's call," shouted the 
prompter. "Clear quick!" Everyone ran helter- 
skelter to leave the stage bare. 

" No ! no ! " I cried. " Hold that curtain — hold it, 
I say ! Call the ladies and gentlemen of the act ! Oh, 
do be quick! You? Why, of course you, Belin — 
Mathilde — the children — Maurice! Where on earth 
is the maid? Hurry — that call will be dead! " 



A CRUCIAL MOMENT 167 

I had them at last — Belin on my left, Mathilde on 
my right, and the others stretched out on each side. 
I signalled — the curtain began to rise — the applause 
began to strengthen slightly. But when the curtain 
was about knee high, and all that long line of skirts 
and trouser legs was seen, with characteristic swiftness 
they in front understood this public acknowledgment 
of good work done, and one mighty roar of applause 
greeted us, such as made the stage tremble beneath 
our feet. The curtain fell only to rise again. This 
time Mr. S , much moved, tried to push me for- 
ward from the line. I caught his hand and led him in- 
stead a step forward with me. Musicians, actors, 
everything that wore hands beat them frantically in 
the joy of this amity. 

Still the curtain might not rest — so at last I went 
out alone. Grave and anxious and unsmiling, I stood 
and swept the house with eager eyes, tier by tier. 
Then suddenly I threw out my extended, questioning 
hands, palms uppermost, and in answer the house rose 
to me. 

My appeal was granted — I was forgiven — rein- 
stated — Boston's clear voice had pronounced the 
verdict. 

After that the play made a triumphal progress 
from act to act, up to the last heartbreaking line. 
Then once more, when all was over, we faced each 
other with wet eyes but smiling lips — while the joy 
of that great greeting shook me to the very heart. 
Boston had accepted me indeed ! 



XI 
RACHEL 

" They have made them a molten calf and have worshipped 
it, and have sacrificed thereunto." 

RACHEL — is there any name in the world 
more fascinating, more mysterious, more 
• magical! There seems to be a triumphant 
ring even in its quietest pronunciation. How eagerly 
we devour every printed word we can find about 
that small, frail, pale woman, with inky hair and 
eyes ; that mighty daughter of Israel, who brought 
the Christian world to her feet, and kept it 
there for eighteen years. Such genius — such amaz- 
ing power of expressing her own conceptions 
— such dignity — such grace, were hers! Oh, to 
have seen her ; to have felt the terror with which she 
was wont to chill her hearers ! That has been my cry 
ever since I first read in early girlhood of the famous 
woman whose childhood days were spent in such 
bitter poverty; whose dwarfed ugliness won her the 
name of " The half-starved Monkey," as she gath- 
ered up the sous her elder sister sang for in the cheap 
cafes. " Oh, how dreadful! " I thought, not under- 
standing then that there was no humiliation in the act 
to the small Jewess, only a joyous satisfaction in see- 
ing the copper coins coming her way. But it was only 
when the gifted girl had won her first great triumph 

168 



RACHEL 169 

that I began to understand and, I must confess it, to 
hate the Felix family, whose cupidity was such that I 
believed they would not have hesitated to draw the 
lifeblood from those precious veins, if they could have 
stamped it into the coin of the realm. 

The young are always severe; I was not looking 
for mitigating circumstances then; I did not pause to 
think how bewildering, how intoxicating must have 
been the effect of the sudden transition from unspeak- 
able poverty; from the society of the low, the igno- 
rant, the vulgar, to that of the educated, the highbred, 
the aristocratic. I made no allowance for the rapa- 
cious greed, the sordid littleness that had been their in- 
heritance from an itinerant peddler ancestry ; but see- 
ing the wonderful calmness and dignity with which 
the one supremely gifted member of the family as- 
sumed the role of gentlewoman, expected some little 
self-control, some slight semblance of honour or grat- 
itude from the rest of " that awful Felix crowd," as 
they came to be called in Paris, and tears of shamed 
sympathy filled my eyes at that point when the Com- 
mittee of Management, recognising the hit the young 
actress had made, sent for her, recalled her contract 
for four thousand francs salary and gave her instead 
a new one, calling for eight thousand. A piece of gen- 
erosity that aroused such a devil of cupidity in 
Abraham Felix's mind, that straightway he made a 
study of " Le Code Civil," and finding to his joy that 
the contract of a minor could be broken, went with 
gleaming eyes, working mouth and curved fingers to 
demand of the management terms so amazing, so 



i;o THE LIFE OF A STAR 

outrageous, that in two days the whole city was cry- 
ing " Extortion ! " and " Shame ! " and thereafter re- 
ferred to him as " Papa Felix, the Jew," and young 
Rachel going to her famous and devoted teacher San- 
son, for instruction in a new part, was met with a 
passionate appeal for her to deny the truth of the 
abominable report that she had ungratefully and dis- 
honourably broken her signed contract with the Com- 
mittee of Management of the great theatre he so 
honoured. Then when she briefly remarked " she was 
a minor and the l Code Civil ' did not hold such to 
their contracts," he burst into a very frenzy of shame 
and rage, and dashing a statuette of his pupil to the 
floor, declared: 

" Your talent will be shattered and annihilated like 
that image ! " He told her he " taught declamation, 
not chicanery! " and that as " he wasn't in the habit 
of associating with those who sought the measure of 
their honour and delicacy within the limits of the 
1 Code Civil,' " finally drove her from his presence. 

For her then the shame and humiliation of it all, 
and though she clothed and fed the whole family; 
though her younger sisters and her brother were being 
educated at her expense — she being, by way of edu- 
cating herself meantime, studying grammar and his- 
tory in particular — all that tender and loving father 
allowed his daughter for her own use was three hun- 
dred francs a month; sixty dollars for her theatrical 
costumes, her private wardrobe and her pocket money, 
a sum utterly inadequate to her requirements. So it 
is no wonder she hailed with joy her majority. When 



RACHEL 171 

after a frightful struggle she broke away from her 
father's thrall, she gave to the family all their apart- 
ments contained, a pension to her father of twelve 
thousand francs, to her mother for her own private 
use — oh, wise daughter ! — four thousand francs, and 
exerted herself to secure good positions at high sal- 
aries for all those sisters and that one brother; while 
she paid the debts of one at least of the girls many 
times. And so that family rapacity that began with 
that first humiliating extortion by papa, went on to 
that hideously cruel dash to America, the result of 
brother Raphael's chimerical illusions, to end at last 
when the coffin of the world-honoured woman had 
barely settled in the grave, in a public sale of her 
belongings. 

" She had been exploited for their benefit to the 
last gasp," says Madame de B., in her " Memoirs of 
Rachel," " And now it occurred to the Children of 
Israel, that something more might be made of her 
remains. n 

" Had the family been forced by poverty to such 
an act," said an old French gentleman to me, " it 
would have been a very painful exhibition, but when 
every member was amply provided for, the sale, ad- 
vertised like an American circus, was gross and dis- 
respectful beyond belief. Nothing was held sacred — 
nothing! Her most intimate belongings, even her 
very body linen, was exposed to the inquisitive fingers 
and inquiring gaze of the curious and the greedy." 

Tears filled the old gentleman's eyes as he spoke of 
this last effort to turn public enthusiasm into bright 



172 THE LIFE OF A STAR 

franc pieces. " Now and then through the crowd, " 
he continued, " I caught a glimpse of one of the Felix 
family, watching eagerly how the auctioneer was ac- 
quitting himself; or hovering near some group of 
possible buyers, ready to throw in a convincing word 
as to the genuineness of a jewel or the value of some 
bibelot. For a sign of feeling, for a flush of shame 
over this needless desecration one had to turn to poor 
old Rose, the dressing maid, who had seen her mis- 
tress rise to her dizziest height, and had done her 
loving best to retard that mistress's swift descent to 
the tomb. Twenty years of service had she given to 
the woman who, capricious, exacting, often violent to 
others, was to her trusting, affectionate and grateful. 
And sitting in her skimpy mourning gown and black 
cap by the side of the bed piled with a small fortune 
in laced underwear, she lifted tired, indignant old 
eyes to his face, and said in trembling tones : ' Oh, 
Monsieur le docteur, it is an infamy, this thing you 
see here! All could have been sold privately, that 
should have been sold at all. But these — these inti- 
mate garments— these stockings — these chemises — 
these slippers — oh ! ' she rocked herself back and forth 
and stroked tenderly the snowy garments piled upon 
the bed at her side. ' If only I could afford to buy 
and keep them together — they breathe of her presence 
to me, Monsieur! They should have been treasured 
sacredly by her family, but this Felix crowd are 
vultures Monsieur ! ' And just then a woman reached 
out her hand to pull a lace-covered petticoat towards 
her, when ancient Rose leaned forward and silently 



RACHEL 173 

fixed upon her so fierce and menacing a look, that 
with a little gasp of fright, the stranger withdrew her 
hand and hurried away. Ah ! " he concluded, " all I 
could think of was some faithful, helpless, old spaniel 
bravely displaying its toothless jaws in a loving de- 
fence of a dead owner — poor old Rose! M 

Recalling how the petty hatred of Abraham Felix 
for Sanson was allowed to accompany the great dead, 
even to the grave, he said to me : " Thanks to a 
twenty-year-old spite, Rachel — the greatest actress 
France ever produced, the last defender of the classic 
drama, the stay and support of tragedy — went to her 
grave without one voice from the Comedie Francaise 
being raised in her praise or honour; without one 
word to testify to the greatness of the loss the theatre 
had sustained. Streams of eloquence flowed about the 
small coffin, but the speakers were famous writers, 
not actors. Everyone waited for the words of Sanson 
— the devoted teacher, who had been second only to 
Jules Janin in the service he had rendered Rachel in 
her days of struggle ; waited in vain for him to come 
forward as the representative of the theatre of her 
love, but neither he nor another spoke one word of 
affection or farewell in the name of the Comedie 
Francaise. Paris stood aghast, until Monsieur Empis, 
the manager, made public the letter of Felix senior, 
when it approved the action of the societaires in re- 
senting the insult he put upon a comrade loved and 
esteemed by all, whose merit and priority of stand- 
ing in the company gave him the right to represent 
them on so brave and important an occasion. 



174 THE LIFE OF A STAR 

" So just as in that faraway first breach of contract 
by Felix pere it was Rachel who suffered the humilia- 
tion; so alas, it was Rachel whose funeral honours 
were shorn of their chief ornament through pere 
Felix's breach of the common decencies of behav- 
iour ! " And my old friend would walk excitedly 
about shaking his ten widely spread fingers in the air, 
for he was still very French in manner for all his 
American citizenship. 

All my days I have had this undying hunger for 
information about Rachel. She has all the fascination 
for me that the Arabian Nights has had for the most 
of us. Never have I met at home or abroad an old 
playgoer without instantly asking: "Have you ever 
seen Rachel ?" If the answer is "Yes," then that 
man or that woman is marked for " the third degree." 
Such examining — such cross-examining as the unfor- 
tunate is subjected to. One of my most precious finds 
was the elder Dr. Seguin (father of the late E. C. 
Seguin), who filled my heart with satisfaction by re- 
marking that Rachel shone like a star of brilliant, in- 
tellectual and spiritual life against the black cloud of 
her ever sordid family. He owned pictures that were 
so rare, so interesting, that I'm afraid that command- 
ment that says " Thou shalt not covet," got cracked 
a bit. " Thou shalt not steal," was all right though, 
because the doctor kept the pictures under double 
locks. 

Then my next splendid find was another doctor, a 
younger man in a Southern city. Actually he had 
travelled with my enchantress through part of that 



RACHEL 175 

fatal American trip. One day — it had been raining — 
while I was re-reading the " Memoirs " and sitting 
after the shower, thinking of the wonderful power of 
the great French woman, and trying to understand 
where her effects came from, I noticed a rain-drop 
resting on a leaf, that, clear, trembling, held all the 
wide blue sky and piled white clouds in its tiny com- 
pass, and suddenly I cried: " She, Rachel, must have 
been like that ! With her frail woman's breast encom- 
passing the aspirations, sorrows, sins, and passions of 
Humanity ! " That of course was only one of those in- 
stinctive conclusions that make women so amusing to 
more logical men, but see what good supporting evi- 
dence it found in Paris but four months later. 

Mademoiselle Dinah Felix was acting still, and my 
efforts to find in what play she was likely to appear 
amused my French acquaintances greatly, until I ex- 
plained my eager desire to approach even so distantly 
the great Rachel, when one said to me : " You will 
gain more through a meeting with a certain old neigh- 
bour, and I think a relative of the Felix family, than 
from watching Mademoiselle Dinah, who is a very 
indifferent actress, and was never the intimate of 
Rachel, as were Sarah and Rebecca." 

So, trembling with excitement, I was given an op- 
portunity to transact a little business with the old 
Hebrew woman and quite incidentally to speak the 
magic name — Rachel. She was lowly, poor, merce- 
nary, but she had a splendid pride in her great sister in 
Israel. A sharp tongue, a memory that held a fact as 
tenaciously as her hand held a coin, and an immeasur- 



1 76 THE LIFE OF A STAR 

able contempt for the Felix crowd — whom she likened 
to leeches. 

" Oh ! " she cried, with her hooped gold earrings 
a-tremble and almost a moisture in her yellow-flecked 
old eyes, " her voice, her marvellous voice ! It ran 
along your nerves like that! (with a trembling of her 
fingers) So deep, so grave, so solemn — like the music 
in a cathedral ! " 

" And that hoarseness, that weakness so often 
spoken of," I asked, " was that genuine or was it — 
well, acting? " 

The old woman looked at me with a sly, half-closed 
eye, as she answered : " Of course she may have been 
exhausted sometimes to the point of hoarseness and 
of voice failure, but somehow when a great scene ar- 
rived the great voice returned to her in time and elec- 
trified the audience. Such enunciation — Madame you 
cannot have heard, no syllable was ever lost. Sit 
where you would, each word perfect — polished, full 
of meaning, came safely, musically to your ear. 
When she raged — she was fine ! fine ! But those nights 
when she had the devil in her, — B-r-r-r ! when she had 
it in for some one — comprenez-vous ? That is the 
American way to say it, eh ? la haine — she was Rachel 
plus Felix — and Felix plus the Devil ! And she make 
the hair to creep on the head and the flesh of the 
goose to come upon the arms ! B-r-r-r ! " 

Suddenly she threw back her head, showing a half 
string of gold beads, tied tight about her yellow 
throat, and laughed a contemptuous and knowing 
laugh. " How often, Madame, have you read of the 



RACHEL 177 

wonderful eyes of the great Rachel — many times, 
eh? How often have you read of them as flashing, 
blazing, glistening, lustrous? Many times again, eh? 
Well each time that was a lie, of the imagination, per- 
haps not of the intention, but all the same a lie ! For 
look you, that angular little mightiness of a woman 
was ugly, and knew it, and was nowhere more ugly 
than in that most strange eye of hers. You know that 
noble brow? Well back, far back, deep-sunken be- 
neath it were the eyes, small, black opaque and flat- 
tened like — truly it has not a good sound — but they 
were like the eyes of a great serpent. No — you do not 
like that? But wait now. Can you, can I, can another, 
look at a thing steadily, steadily, unwinkingly for a 
minute at a time ? Mais non ! non 1 The eye it blur, 
it pain, it cry, and at last it wink for rest, for pity of 
itself, eh? But that dense, cold, black eye of Rachel, 
when there was rage behind it, would look at you with 
an unwinking, unwavering intensity of evil, that 
chilled your blood, dulled your thoughts and left you 
helpless, just as a bird is helpless when the unwinking 
serpent eye has mesmerised it." 

" Was there truth then," I asked, " in the story told 
of the public crushing of Mademoiselle Maxime by 
Rachel?" 

The old woman worked the tip of her nose as a 
rabbit does. She tapped the counter with trembling 
fingers: " Truth? You ask it? Dieu de Dieul Was I 
there then, with all the other Jews, or was I not? 
Some were for Maxime, — who mind you was hand- 
some and not so bad an actress either; and besides 



1 78 THE LIFE OF A STAR 

Rachel had behaved badly toward Paris and the home 
theatre, and many wanted to punish her. So the 
Maxime party was strong and Rachel had the very 
devil's self pent up in her that night. The Felix crowd 
were wild with fright and everyone chuckled at sight 
of their faces. It was a great night. The whole city 
seemed to be packed into the theatre. Maxime's party 
applauded and hissed; Rachel's party hissed and ap- 
plauded, and so they yelled and shouted and clapped 
and stamped, until Mary Stuart and Elizabeth met 
and faced each other; and, Madame, there came then 
a silence that was like death! The audience saw 
Rachel's face and a sigh passed over the crowded 
house — for we had expected a struggle to the death, 
mind you. But that face — Oh, mon Dieu ! — we felt 
the end already! The scene began. Elizabeth was 
doing well — Rachel as Mary waited, with her arms 
folded, her sleek head lowered a little, she fastened 
upon Maxime's face dull black eyes of such malignant 
hate, that one felt a chill at the roots of the hair. 
Elizabeth started, then made a swift gesture and went 
bravely on, but she could not break away from the 
intensifying power of the cold eyes that clung to her 
until her own glance met theirs. Then at the unwink- 
ing, baleful stare, she gave a gasp, a visible trembling 
passed over her whole body. She spoke and a hoarse- 
ness came into her voice. She strove desperately to 
escape Rachel's unwavering eye ; strove in anguish — 
spoke again — stammered — hesitated — and was lost. 
Mary Stuarfs opportunity came then, but never in her 
whole life did Rachel give rein to such mad passion 



RACHEL 1 79 

as on that night! Paris raved over her; was at her 
feet again; Maxime was ruined; but, Madame, a, 
young English artist who sat with us in the cheap 
places, cried out, all furious : * Ah, but that was dam- 
nable ! ' Eh, bien, perhaps it was, but that was the 
power of the dull black eye I tell you of. Sometimes 
in the great moments of the grand tragedy I have seen 
a glow come, a kind of red smoulder, but never, oh, 
never in the world the flash, the blaze, the gleam ! 
She seemed too, Madame, sometimes far up above 
us all — the tragedy of all the earth — the love of all 
lovers — the grace of all women seemed to be in her 
own heart " (Ah, I thought, my rain-drop) , " and it 
was out of her heart that she acted at least part of 
the time." 

Hungrily I listened to some scraps of information 
about her costuming. Everyone wrote and raved over 
the exquisite grace with which she wore her Greek 
draperies, " Merely cast carelessly about her," one 
critic said, " yet falling always in such statuesque 
folds." Poor Rose had another tale to tell. Every 
fold was arranged, pinned, studied in the glass, 
walked in, studied again, abandoned, another tried 
and yet another, until the perfect line and fold being 
attained at last, they were secured by patiently placed 
stitches. She was fond too of " making up her face " 
with almost no rouge for many of the parts she 
played, Tisbe being one of the few characters for 
which she dressed brilliantly and painted high. 
" When," said my old woman, " she had made-up 
"971th an unbroken whiteness, that her jetty hair, eye- 



180 THE LIFE OF A STAR 

brows and eyes made marble-like, and had touched 
her sensitive lips with a vivid scarlet, she looked — she 
looked like " She hesitated. 

I suggested, " like a beautiful portrait of Trag- 
edy? For surely such a make-up, beside being artis- 
tic, must have been very becoming to the woman who 
wore it." 

The yellow-flecked eyes suddenly took on a new 
sharpness. She laid an inquiring finger on my arm: 
" You, Madame, is it possible that you are yourself of 
the stage? Oui — tant mieux! I grow old of a cer- 
tainty — I should have seen. Oh, la! la! by a dozen 
things, I should have seen. From America you come 
— from that far, sad land, where the great Rachel 
laid down the sceptre. You, you cannot have seen 
her? No; I was sure, and you are not even of her 
race, yet you seek to know all, everything. You ques- 
tion like the child. Why, Madame ? What think you 
then of her?" 

And from an extravagant impulse, I answered : " I 
think her the mightiest Jewess since the times of 
Miriam and Deborah." 

Her old mouth worked as she caught my gloved 
hand to her lips, and said huskily : " Merci — Merci! " 
many times. " It is you see that sometimes I have, 
Madame, the fear that Paris here forgets a little, and 
it makes the pain. No? you think not? All America 
makes honour to that memory, you say? Good! Eh? 
What, you do not admire pere Felix, not even the 
beau Raphael? A-ah! " she straightened up, gave a 
sigh of satisfaction and then, with the tone peculiar 



RACHEL 181 

to the dealer in misfit garments, she said : " Madame 
has the judgment of the best, and — and doubtless 
you are an artiste of high standing," and then sur- 
prised me by taking from my hand an old bit of 
metal : " Non, Madame, that is not for you ! " 

" But," I remonstrated, " it is old German work." 

" Non," she interrupted, " the placard says old 
German work, but it came truly from across the 
Seine. It is not for a woman who bends the head to 
the memory of the great Rachel, whom she has not 
even seen! " 

And in the scorching heat, she crossed the walk, 
placed me in the voiture and opened my parasol and 
laid my packages upon my knee — all, with the man- 
ner of one attending upon an enfeebled Grande 
Duchesse. 

Then the cocker cracked his whip over the unim- 
pressed, heat-dried unfortunates between the shafts, 
who slowly got in motion. We both glanced back — 
both spoke a last sentence. The voices were different, 
but my " Thanks, Madame, for your memories of 
Rachel! " was cut across by her: " Thanks, Madame, 
for your memory of Rachel ! " and so with the great 
name upon our lips we parted. 

One dreary wet Sunday, nearly a year later, I lay 
in a hotel room in Louisville and with frowning 
brows watched Dr. Yandell as he bandaged the ankle 
I had injured the night before. The season was near- 
ing its close and I was homesick. In the great splash- 
ing pattern of the carpet I seemed to see faces that 



1 82 THE LIFE OF A STAR 

mocked me; the marble mantel looked like a tomb- 
stone. My almost indestructible cheerfulness was giv- 
ing way before these things combined with pain. 
The doctor had just mentioned some incident con- 
nected with the days when he walked the hospital 
floors as a student in Paris. Paris ! I glanced at him. 
Yes, there were touches of grey about his stately head, 
he might perhaps, — and swiftly the question, the in- 
evitable question flew from my lips: "Doctor, did 
you ever see Rachel? " 

The quick glint in his lifted eyes, the involuntary 
tug upon the bandage answered me before his slow 
Southern speech could, and scrambling up upon my 
pillows, unrelentingly I wrung the doctor's memory 
dry of everything it held anent Rachel. He, as a 
young student had made the acquaintance of Raphael 
and his great sister by a ludicrous collision in a dark 
hallway. Apologies, laughter, and the discovery that 
they sought a mutual friend's apartment led to an in- 
troduction. Then followed an impromptu little game 
of cards and to the intellectual enslavement of young 
Yandell by the reigning queen of the world of Art. 
In his opinion the trip to America had been a verita- 
ble tragedy. Never had there been any folly to equal 
the folly of Raphael. He had been made mad by the 
story of Jenny Lind's 1,700,000 francs earned in 
thirty-eight performances. He could not be brought 
to listen to reason. He gave no thought to Barnum, 
that tremendous factor in the diva's success. He for- 
got that music appeals to all classes, can be enjoyed re- 
gardless of the language in which it is sung. Forgot 



RACHEL 183 

that tragedy appealed to the cultivated few, even in 
France — there was no reason in him. He had made 
him a molten calf, and the golden dazzle of it blinded 
him to the realities of life and common sense. 

Rachel had been most unwilling to undertake the 
expedition, but that family of hers conspired against 
her. Abraham — Raphael — Sarah — Dinah — Leah — 
mere Felix, all united in pointing to the land of gold. 
They gave her no peace. Ah, well, all that is history, 
said the doctor. 

" But oh, could you have seen the shame, the 
wounded pride, the silent suffering of the great 
woman, who found she had been made an instrument 
for the advancement of her family's interests ! " 

"Shame?" I exclaimed. "Why should she be 
ashamed? " 

"Good God!" excitedly answered the doctor, 
" have you not heard of the inconceivable parsimony 
of Raphael? Rachel had her faults, but she did truly 
reverence her art; but here in this country art was not 
thought of, the cry was Dollars! Dollars! The 
brother who managed for her would not expend one 
cent even to secure correct properties; and permitted 
the most ludicrous blunders in stage setting to pass 
uncorrected, such as a flowered carpet covering a 
Roman street. Many a time the curtain rose on a 
stately tragedy to the convulsed laughter of the audi- 
ence — so absurd would the scenery be." 

" I had " continued the doctor, " hesitated to pre- 
sent myself to Madame in America, thinking it very 
probable she had forgotten me, but at our meeting 



1 84 THE LIFE OF A STAR 

here, in Louisville, she greeted me as a friend and 
did me the honour to ask me to accompany her, for a 
time at least. You can imagine with what willingness 
I placed myself at her service. But that family, Good 
Heaven! that family! Jealous, malicious, covetous, 
they all were ! Quarrelsome as they all were, yet one 
there was who terrorised all the others, including 
even the father and Rachel herself. In times of fam- 
ily mishap or of serious illness Sarah was the de- 
voted sister and nurse, but the moment the draft upon 
her sympathy had been honoured, she became a terror. 
She domineered over everyone ; she meddled in every- 
thing, and on the slightest provocation she would 
burst into a furious rage, using the argot picked up in 
her street-singing days; making charges of theft, of 
falsehood and often, indeed generally, using her 
hands, even her nails as freely as she did her angry 
words. 

" It was between Raphael and Sarah that dissen- 
sions oftenest arose. Rachel dreaded such scenes 
greatly and strove to maintain the peace which she 
had invariably to purchase with a gift to each partici- 
pant in the fray. Her own self-control was wonderful. 
She always, save in one instance, preserved a quiet 
dignity of manner that was admirable; but that one 
outburst I shall never forget. 

" Gambling was as the breath of life to her. You 
look startled, but it is quite true. She loved cards pas- 
sionately, so did they all love them, but in a lesser 
degree. When she could not rise from her bed she 
would have a board brought and laid across her 



RACHEL 185 

knees. To face her in white gown and delicate lace 
cap, frail and shadowed, her thin fingers deftly ma- 
nipulating the cards, was like gambling with a phan- 
tom. I had forbidden playing for high stakes because 
the intense excitement engendered was injurious to 
her. She had given me a droll look, but smiling in- 
dulgently, had said * Very well, she would play for 
pennies, if I so commanded/ a form of speech that 
covered me with confusion, for I was far too young 
to venture to command a Rachel even for her own 
good. 

" Well on the day of which I speak, she and a sister 
were playing at the bedside. Rose admitted me to the 
room and with a quick glance in their direction, shook 
her head disapprovingly. No wonder. Rachel was 
trembling violently, but her eyes were fixed in a stare 
of such concentrated anger that I felt a chill creep 
over me. On her side of the board about a dozen 
copper pennies lay; on Sarah's side there must have 
been thirty or forty. Rachel never greeted me, never 
winked even, but, in that unbroken stare, said very 
low : ' Go on, Mademoiselle, you have a very remark- 
able luck to-day ! ' 

"In high, angry tones, Sarah answered: * Don't 
you try to look me down, Madame Greatness ! ' 

" ' Play! ' commanded Rachel. 

" And then it was all like the flash, the crash of a 
volley of musketry," said the doctor, throwing out 
his hands helplessly, " and before I could cross the 
room there came the words : * Cheat ! Thief ! ' and 
the board was flying through the air, pennies were 



1 86 THE LIFE OF A STAR 

everywhere ! Sarah was in the middle of the chamber; 
the bedclothes were flung aside, and with the leap of 
a tigress Rachel flung herself upon her sister and 
caught at her throat, and eight small red dents 
showed where her fingers struck before her strength 
fled and she sank back unconscious into my arms. 

" I never heard such vituperation from human lips 
as poured from Sarah Felix's as I carried her sister 
back to her bed. But when she saw the still form, the 
bluish lips, she flung herself beside her, rubbing the 
limp hands, breathing into her mouth, forcing brandy 
down her throat, and doing it all like a woman de- 
mented with grief. Then when at last breath had re- 
turned to the patient, and a long attack of coughing 
had been reckoned with, Sarah, tired, dishevelled, 
stood looking down on her exhausted sister and re- 
marked resentfully : * And all that, mind you, because 
I cheated her out of a few pennies — there's a sister 
for you, Monsieur.' 

" And so I learned that Rachel had as her birth- 
right the violent temper of the Felix family, and 
surely she deserved credit for so nearly conquering 
it. She saw every doctor who was suggested to her, 
and one and all they said: * Rest — rest now — imme- 
diately, and in this balmy air you will probably re- 
cover.' Everyone avoided the word ' lungs,' all spoke 
of the ' larynx,' until in Charleston a French doctor 
boldly informed her her lungs were affected. Then 
she began to realise her danger. 

" ' I ought to rest,' she would say, piteously to 
Raphael, whose face would become sullen in a mo- 



RACHEL 187 

ment. When she coughed the girls would shrug their 
shoulders and tap their feet impatiently. They made 
her feel that she was injuring them greatly. They 
sighed and moaned over the i failure she had made.' 
Though the receipts exceeded anything they had 
ever played to in Europe, they yet fell so far below 
Raphael's mad dreams and expectations that the 
family made most piteous outcries." 

The doctor thought that, from being with her all 
the time, they failed to perceive the change in her ap- 
pearance, but the rest of the company, who had 
reached Charleston before her, were startled at the 
alteration of only those few days. It would be too 
painful to repeat the doctor's story of her eager 
watching for a fairly comfortable day, in which to 
write letters to her mother and her sons — brave, 
bright, hopeful letters. Of her silent despair on the 
bad days when the cough gave her no rest, and the 
pain beneath the shoulders tortured her; while a 
mighty homesickness wrung her very soul with an- 
guish. She was pulled one way by the doctors; pulled 
the other way by her family, Oh, poor Rachel ! Lis- 
ten to her own words, written even in the heyday of 
her power: 

" My success is wonderful, but purchased at what 
a price. The price alas, of my health and life. The 
intoxication of applause passes into my blood and 
burns it up. The public, the world see the artist, but 
they forget the woman ! " 

Was it not Ouida who said : " The laurel hurts 
when it grows from the tender breast of a woman ! " 



1 88 THE LIFE OF A STAR 

Next to the joy of having seen the famous actress I 
would count the joy of owning a certain picture, one 
of those Dr. Seguin so wisely kept under double 
locks. A tiny thing, but oh, the delight of it. There 
is the Rachel of one's imagination. Yet young in all 
her hope, her just springing pride, her vaulting ambi- 
tion. She had greatly desired to play Phedre, but had 
been told she was too small for the part. She was 
highly indignant, and Alfred de Musset, the poet, 
the beau, the beloved of George Sand, who had just 
written his famous " Nuit de Mai," one night after 
Tancred, had returned home with Rachel ; had supped 
with the family and afterward she had eagerly re- 
quested him to listen to her reading of the great part 
of Phedre. And in this wonderful little picture these 
two gifted children of France, ever young, ever 
triumphant, face each other at the table, where the 
few dishes are pushed aside; where one guttering 
candle has been reinforced by another hastily thrust 
into a wine bottle; where Rachel, in a loose sacque, 
with a cap formed of a foulard handkerchief upon 
her hair, sits, the book held in one hand, while the ' 
other is stretched out in declamatory, illuminating ges- 
ture. And De Musset leans his folded arms upon the 
shabby table and gazes as at an inspired young 
priestess. 

This is not the woman of whom afterward it was 
said: "She seeks not glory, but gold," — this is the 
aspiring, passionate, young student; this is the girl 
who calmly passed from her sordid home into the 
drawing-rooms of the greatest aristocrats of France, 



RACHEL 189 

and by her modest self-possession and gentle dignity 
astonished and charmed all who met her. 

I gazed and gazed at the small picture and sud- 
denly a thought came to me: " Dr. Seguin," I said, 
" George Sand and Rachel disliked each other in- 
tensely did they not? " 

" Yes," he answered, " and I never could find a 
satisfactory reason for that dislike — a cause." 

I laughed, and putting my finger on De Musset, 
I asked: "Is not this the cause?" An amused, al- 
most mocking, look came into his face : " Well, 
well! leave a woman to divine a thing. Now Paris 
generally thought that George Sand was piqued be- 
cause Rachel would not accept a play of hers, and 
yet I remember now, George Sand always spoke gen- 
erously of Rachel, while Rachel was ever bitter and 
satirical in her comments on the writer." 

" Naturally," I remarked, " as Sand was strong 
enough to hold her poet at her side and defeat was 
ever bittter to the actress." 

Again I returned to the study of the picture where 
the poet of France sits in wrapt attention opposite 
Rachel, pale, slight, gifted with the divine power, 
the perfect tact, the wondrous grace, that won her the 
allegiance of the most accomplished men in France, 
the most illustrious in the literary world, the most 
eminent statesmen and most talented politicians. 
This is the Rachel that creates the glamour, that wins 
the love, that fires the imagination. This is the ac- 
tress that raised the people to her level, never sink- 
ing her art to them — Rachel, artiste as we wish to 



i 9 o THE LIFE OF A STAR 

remember her before the family had forced her 
attention to the golden mirage that dazzled their 
own eyes; before they had injected the poison of 
avarice into her veins. This girl still has nobility, 
pride, enthusiasm, courage! 

The tears came swiftly to my eyes, for in the dim, 
dim background, I had just caught sight of a fat old 
woman, asleep in a chair — mere Felix, of course! 
" Oh," I cried, " she can't escape them even here ! " 

The doctor looked over my shoulder and quoted 
sarcastically : " They have made them a molten calf 
and have worshipped it," while I, wet-eyed, added: 
"And have sacrificed thereunto," and was silly enough 
to bend my head and press my lips to the pictured 
face of the great Rachel! 



XII 
THE MORMON BANQUO 

I WAS in New York in a mad pursuit of Santa 
Claus, and I had been cheated by a cab driver. 
I knew it and he knew I knew it — which was a 
comfort; but when, tired and hungry, I faced home- 
ward, rather than stand and deliver a second time, I 
said, " I will take my life in my hands along with my 
parcels, and I will clamber into one of those cars 
where there is always room * up front,' and I will cling 
to the life line, if I can reach a strap " ; and all this 1 
did until a tall man wearing the wide-brimmed black 
felt hat that finds favour in the Far West, rose and 
gravely unhooked me from the life line, placed me 
in his former seat and then piled my parcels in a neat 
little barricade about me. As I lifted grateful eyes 
and began a murmur of thanks I met a glance of 
tense inquiry and — and, yes, a look of full recogni- 
tion. I paused and my brow began to knit helplessly. 
" Well," he asked, removing his hat, " you can't 
make me out — you can't place me, eh?" But just 
then the great curved scar high on his forehead 
prompted me so plainly that I was able to answer, 
" Your name? No; I can't make that out — I've 
lost it, but I can place you at a late hour of the after- 
noon, in a very fine shop for very beautiful things in 
far Salt Lake City," and gave him my hand in greet- 
ing. 

191 



i 9 2 THE LIFE OF A STAR 

" A-ah ! " he exclaimed, " but you have a remark- 
able memory." And I wanted to answer, " A-ah you 
wear a remarkable scar." He bent his tall figure 
and peered anxiously out at the street numbers, then, 
reassured, he spoke again: 

" I wouldn't ask this question of anyone else, but, 
as your memory seems so exceptional, do you — that 
is, is there anything interesting going on at Washing- 
ton just now that recalls our conversation in Salt 
Lake City?" 

I thought hard for a moment. Salt Lake — the 
great Mormon city? Washington — the seat of gov- 
ernment; army, navy, Congress? " Oh," I exclaimed, 
" Mr. Smoot! Do you mean the Mormon Senator? " 

He laughed a laugh that turned many eyes in his 
direction. " Ah," he cried, " confess now that you 
took a needless amount of salt with the statements 
I made — the arguments I advanced that day? And 
admit that certain things have occurred within a year 
that go far to prove the truth of my assertion that 
in Mormondom polygamy and blood atonement will 
not down? " 

" Like Banquo's ghost," I smiled. But he smiled 
not at all, and went on. " You jest, but you speak 
truth all the same. The Mormon Banquo's — yes, the 
ghost was a pretty powerful factor in the downfall 
of Macbeth, I believe, and more feared than a dozen 
living — er — what the dickens is the word? " 

" Thanes? " I suggested. 

" That's it ! Queer sort of title, too. Well, if I 
knew no more about Mormons than I do about 



THE MORMON BANQUO 193 

Thanes I'd keep still, like Br'er Rabbit; but this is 
only the second time I've been out of Salt Lake in 
twenty-six years, so I know Mormonism pretty well 
— its good qualities and its bad ones. Clever people, 
yes, but not at all American. They love Utah, but 
not the United States. Instinctively they secretly 
range themselves against the government; their for- 
bears were inimical, too. No other country in the 
world would allow a festering sore on the body politic 
to spread as this is doing without an effort being 
made to prevent, to heal, or to eradicate it." 

Again I put in a frivolous word. " Wait until 
woman as trained nurse discovers this threatened in- 
fection, and she will call upon the surgeons to do their 
duty." 

" Well, God haste the day ! " he said. " You only 
laugh, but all the same, woman is the natural enemy 
of Mormonism. Mark my words — this Mormon 
Banquo will not down, and it will eventually be the 
hand of the American woman that will collar the neck 
and trim the claws of the great Utah Panther that, 
guarded by the natural barricades of desert waste and 
mountain fastness, has worked its savage will with- 
out interference. Ah, you think me a crank — I can 
see it in your face." 

I laughed a trifle uncomfortably, for if anyone 
ever does read your thought it's bound to be the one 
you would prefer to keep it from. But I re- 
sponded: — " You shouldn't object to the term. Think 
what useful people cranks are. But for them we 
might settle down into the dull content that means 



i 9 4 THE LIFE OF A STAR 

stolidity. You see, cranks stir us up to that divine 
discontent that leads to effort and improved condi- 



tions." 



" Oh," he cried; "here's my street! Good-bye! 
Next time you come to Salt Lake I'd like to bring my 
wife and daughter to call. Then you will know what 
cranks really are. They are devoted to Mormon 
women, but detest Mormon men. Good-bye! " and 
my nameless friend was off, rushing toward the depot, 
while I, staring through the windows, seemed to see 
the strange, turtle-backed Tabernacle, the peaks and 
points of that pretentious temple, that, like a bottom- 
less well, swallows unceasingly good Mormon money, 
yet is never quite completed — for mentally I was in 
Salt Lake, not in New York. 

Then suddenly rose in my memory the cold, calm 

face and woful eyes of Mrs. P , the polygamus 

wife, who had been one of those " put away " in 
obedience to the new law. I remembered how I had 
said to her : — " Your religion is a difficult one to 
understand, is it not?" 

" Far from it," she replied with intense bitterness. 
" Pay and obey — there you have the Mormon re- 
ligion; and for a certain class of believers, it is emi- 
nently satisfactory, for if they pay readily and obey 
silently they are free to do pretty much as they please 
with all other laws, and they will never be called to 
account for any wrongdoing outside the Church." 

" But," I said, somewhat sharply, " you were not 
born to the faith; you were a convert. It is the re- 
ligion you yourself accepted." 



THE MORMON BANOUO 195 

One quick flash came into the weary eyes. " Oh, 
no — Oh, no ! This is not the religion I accepted — not 
the religion of peace and brotherly love and holiness 
that was preached to us in rural England. There are 
no better missionaries on earth than the Mormons. 
They are most carefully selected, then most carefully 
trained for their lifework. They must be men of a 
certain dignified presence, of suave and persuasive 
manner, with a great flow of language. Along with 
these speakers there is invariably an accompanying 
elder, who attends to all the financial matters. Each 
is a specialist, so together their work is well done. 
Do you think the word ' polygamy ' is even breathed 
to those gatherings of women, most of whom have 
found life hard and ugly? 

" The only * blood atonement ' that is mentioned 
then is that of our Master and Saviour. Oh, if you 
could only hear them describe heaven on earth in this 
Zion City of Salt Lake, where sin is unknown, where 
all live in innocent, loving brotherhood and work 
to the honour of God and His prophets ! The religion 
I accepted was a peaceful, sinless serving. No, no 
shadow is allowed to fall across a convert's faith and 
enthusiasm until she has emigrated and reached the 
Mormon country. Then she faces the Endowment 
House, polygamy begins to coil around her, and, 
cringing before the blood atonement terror, she be- 
comes that soulless thing, a woman whose only hope 
of heaven lies in being sealed to some male Mor- 
mon ! " 

Then a swift colour came into her cheek, while in a 



196 THE LIFE OF A STAR 

perfectly even tone she continued: — " Oh, it will be 
no trouble — I was walking in that direction myself." 
I was utterly at sea, but somehow managed to say : 
" Thank you very much." She glanced significantly 
then at a woman in shabby black who loitered near 
us, looking into the shop windows. " It is the church 
system," she explained. " I'm ' cold ' in the faith. 
I'm seen walking with a Gentile, a travelling woman 
— maybe, by chance, I'm trying to leave town." 
I shivered. " Will they question her about you? " 
She sneered. " Oh, better than that — they will 
question me. Have I seen her lately, and with 
whom? If I say ' No,' they will enjoy the very re- 
finement of espionage in making me condemn myself. 
But I shall say, * Let me see — y-yes, I think I saw 
Sister Brown the day I was showing the Gentile 



woman to a store.' ' 



"And then?" 

" Well, then, Sister Brown will receive praise for 
her exact report, and I shall be more suspected than 
ever; so we all spy, one upon another." 

I had done most of my Christmas shopping in San 
Francisco, but now found myself three gifts short, 
and on Friday afternoon of that week I went out to 
see what I could find that was pretty, and so wan- 
dered into the handsome shop of the man who had 
recognised me just now. Nothing is more conducive 
to sudden confidences between strangers than the dis- 
covery of a taste in common. So in our mutual ad- 
miration for two or three really fine intaglios, which 
in twelve or fifteen years of exhibition had never won 



THE MORMON BANQUO 197 

a glance of appreciation, the proprietor expanded. 
He was a resident Gentile — I was a visiting Gen- 
tile. We met in the great Mormon city of Salt Lake. 
There could be but one result — a talk on Mormonism, 
in which eager conversation developed into the per- 
sonal confidences of a man who had been forced by 
physical causes to live in this land, and who for 
twenty odd years had neighboured with the Mormon 
people. When I ventured the remark that, to me, an 
utter outsider, it always seemed that the greatest 
enemies of this body of people were their leaders, he 
exclaimed: — "There, you have crowded the whole 
business into a nutshell. The Mormon missionary 
seeks the agricultural people, the slow, honest, sober, 
well meaning, who in gratitude for escaping hard- 
ships, military service, etc., gladly pay heavy tithes 
to the Church. But in the case of the clever, brainy 
man, the Mormon Church makes direct appeal, 
either to his ambition, his craving to exercise personal 
power over others, or to his lust." 

" Strong, rapacious, cruel men rise high in this 
Church, the very breath of whose life is hypocrisy. It 
was three years before they gave up all hope of 
making a Mormon of me, so I know what I am talk- 
ing about. These people assume the attitude of mar- 
tyrs and declare they are persecuted for religion's 
sake. In this land of religious liberty why need there 
be secrecy about one's faith? Secrecy implies either 
fear or evil intent. Why, then, does the Mormon 
Church demand of a newcomer first of all silence, ab- 
solute obedience and the oath to avenge the blood of 



i 9 8 THE LIFE OF A STAR 

the prophets (Smith and the rest) upon this govern- 
ment. The truth is, Mormonism is not a religion — it 
is a secret society — a travesty on Masonry. You 
know, nearly all the founders of Mormonism were 
Masons, and this feature is most evident in the secret 
endowments. The horrors of polygamy are beyond 
the imagination of you outsiders, and let me say cas- 
ually there were no tears shed by Mormons when they 
heard of the death of Miss Kate Field, who was a 
dreaded foe, keen, fearless, and, as they believed, 
with power at her back. 

" Clever, astute, ambitious people, suave hypocrisy 
is their strongest card. You do not hear them bluster 
or boast at Washington, where they play the patient 
misunderstood. But here, Lord ! — well" (he laughed 
a little as he continued) , " if a Mormon offers you 
his right hand, you want to keep your eyes tightly 
glued to the left while you clasp it. Never is a Mor- 
mon more dangerous politically than when he is 
seemingly making a concession. These people are 
foes to the government. Their so-called religion is 
treasonable, yet if an outsider inquires into it, the 
warning word speeds forth, ' Preach only the first 
principles ' — meaning repentance, baptism for remis- 
sion of sins, etc., all the sweet and gentle things 
preached by missionaries everywhere. Polygamy, 
blood atonement, treasonable endowments and blind 
obedience — they are called the ' holy mysteries ' and 
are only to be preached to the very elect gathered in 
Zion. No, these Jesuits will never give to the public 
the Masonic key that will unlock the riddle of their 



THE MORMON BANQUO 199 

Church, but put your finger on polygamy and you 
can feel the whole structure tremble. The brutalities 
of the past are unspeakable. 

" Think of John D. Lee's claim of nineteen wives 
and sixty-four children. Such wholesale marrying 
cannot be safely practised now, but the agony and 
shame of smirched womanhood is with us still. Have 
you noticed how many women here of early middle 
life, well dressed, well fleshed, wear all the same dull, 
stolid expression? Mormon men will draw your at- 
tention to this well-fed apathy and call it perfect 
contentment with polygamy ; but those that know can 
tell you that rage over broken vows, shame over 
humiliations, griefs over lost loves all proving useless, 
they have recognised their abject helplessness, and 
at last, like other animals, they accept shelter, food 
and drink and ask no more. Wounds may be many 
and deep, but where mortification sets in the throb- 
bing pain and agony are stilled. These women will 
sit still and silent, and lift neither voice nor finger to 
protest now, for suffering is dulled, and one does not 
expect the moribund to ward off the hand of desecra- 
tion. But the young — are they to suffer, too? Why 
will not the happier women of the land turn their 
attention to this plague — polygamy?" 

" They do not know," I hazarded. " It's so far 
away — so like a myth, and " 

" Oh," he interrupted; " they may wake up some 
day to find it unpleasantly near them. These people 
would be mighty proud of a few converts from the 
great Eastern cities." 



200 THE LIFE OF A STAR 
11 Oh," I cried, " do you think " 



" I know that missionaries are being sent now, 
who will not take the steamer, as usual." 

" But people in the East believe polygamy dead." 
He smiled sardonically. " Well, it is illegal," I 
insisted. 

" It is only practised more privately and with some 
merriment at the expense of the government, that's 
about all. By the way, when the struggle was on over 
polygamy our Mormon Representative wept over the 
loss of caste the put-away polygamous wife would 
suffer, declaring she would be regarded by the world 
in the light of a lawless woman, an unnamable crea- 
ture, which was a brutality that probably never en- 
tered any mind but his own. He was one of the many 
who thought it an outrage that the first wife married 
should be held as the legal mate, instead of the last 
and youngest one." 

" What was the real position of a put-away, 
polygamous wife?" 

" Why, she was looked upon and treated by the 
Gentiles as a widow or possibly as a divorcee; but as 
a nameless creature, as he suggested, never! never! 
While the Mormons paid her extra deference as a 
sort of martyr." 

As I prepared to leave the store he said: — " Re- 
member, Mormonism will surprise you some day in 
the East. It always is willing to creep until it can 
stand quite firmly. You will hear that there is no 
blood atonement, and it will be just as dead as 
polygamy, which is as dead as I am. At this moment 



THE MORMON BANOUO 201 

they are preparing some new tools — bright young 
fellows. If they show gifts they are looked after, are 
educated, made much of by the great ones of the 
Church. A lad's heart is theirs then, naturally, and 
when his powers ripen they are at the command of 
those who have developed them. As I said, some 
new tools are now in preparation and in a few years 
you may hear of them. Good-bye." 

Next day I caught, by merest chance, one tiny 
peep at Mormonism that was funny, and yet — and 

yet There was a double box party on the left of 

the stage. One box held four ladies and, for a little 
while, one gentleman. In the furthest box were 
seated five little girls and three little boys; and the 
matinee had but just started when our interest was 
aroused by hearing that these were the Mormon 
children of one father and three mothers. 

" Oh, of course," in answer to our surprised looks, 
" the wives no longer live as one family, but — er — er 
— on certain occasions they meet just as they meet all 
their friends." 

And so we went on with our work, and would have 
given them no further thought but for the manner in 
which the play affected the little people. True, the 
house was mostly in tears, but the passionate grief of 
the tiniest tot of them all came near to breaking up 
our scene on the stage. I was, as Odette, in opposition 
to my husband, and alternately threatened, wept, 
prayed and pleaded for a sight of my own child. 
While the boys squirmed uncomfortably and the four 
small maids, with wet little wads of handkerchiefs, 



202 THE LIFE OF A STAR 

dabbed at their eyes, the eldest miss sat frigidly, with 
supercilious brows, and from beneath contemptuously 
drooped lids sent side glances of disapproval toward 
her too emotional small sisters. But when the Count, 
with savage sarcasm, absolutely refused to allow the 
pleading mother to see, even for a moment, the child 
of her love, that mere baby in the box, between suf- 
focating gasps, cried out, " Oh, please ! oh, please ! " 
and turning laid her little arm along the chair back, 
dropped her head upon it and broke into sobs that 
shook her small body. 

As the curtain fell a wailing voice cried: " Mama ! 
mama ! " One of the ladies heard, and rising hast- 
ily, went to the next box, but just as she entered the 
sobbing mite lifted her tear-wet face and in a dis- 
appointed voice said: "No! no! Not that one! 
I want my mama ! " 

No. i withdrew, meeting No. 3 entering hastily. 
The weeping baby lifted an eager face, that clouded 
instantly, and throwing out not only an arm, but one 
slippered foot, in strong repulsion, she cried: " Not 
you 1 — no, not you ! Oh ! " — with piercing insistence — 
" I want my very own mama ! " 

The audience laughed. Some of us behind the 
scenes laughed, too; yet many eyes were wet. That 
open, honest demand of nature, " I want my own 
mama," made us wonder how often an equally nat- 
ural cry had been wrung from women's hearts : " I 
want my husband! My own husband! " 

I have not been to Salt Lake since, but here was 
this merchant to remind me of his prophecies — and 



THE MORMON BANQUO 203 

many of them have come true. We have been sur- 
prised by finding Mormons teaching in our very 
schools and winning converts from our own homes. 
Blood atonement has been denied again and again, 
yet the other day, in Utah, a condemned Mormon 
criminal had his sentence of hanging changed to 
shooting so that he might atone with his blood and 
thus alone be saved to eternal happiness. Of the 
clever new men who were being prepared for certain 
service, we may find one, perhaps, in Mr. Smoot. 
Altogether, I fancy my unnamed merchant friend 
knew fairly well what he was talking about. Will 
his last prophecy come true — will women defeat po- 
lygamy? Will they exorcise the Mormon Banquo ? 
I hope so — I pray so ! 



XIII 
MAJOR MCKINLEY— A MEMORY 

IT lies before me, a simple bit of pasteboard such 
as any hotel may offer to the cardless caller 
upon a patron. White once, but yellowing now, 
a mere bit of pasteboard, but enriched and made 
inestimably precious by a few written words of cour- 
tesy, signed — clearly and firmly signed — " William 
McKinley." 

Wonderful is the power of association, for the sight 
of this scrap of cardboard brings back the brassy 
blare of bands, the earth tremble of marching feet 
in serried ranks and all the redundancy of shouting 
that forms part of every political jubilation — but 
swelled beyond all bounds by the joy-mad men who 
were not merely adherents and partisans, but loyal 
friends of the man who had just become Governor 
of the fair broad State of Ohio. 

The clang of bell, the martial music, the drum and 
cheer — all brought back by that small card, and more 
— the picture, too, of that State's idol, the happy- 
faced, clean-handed, new Governor standing in the 
State House, shaking hands with delirious constitu- 
ents, many of whom had uncomplainingly, even jok- 
ingly, lost portions of their clothing in the struggle 
to reach that kindly hand ; yet in the midst of intoxi- 
cating triumph calling a halt — reclaiming his hand — 
demanding a moment that he might write a line or 

204 



major Mckinley— a memory 205 

two with his hat crown for a desk, because forsooth a 
message of congratulation from one almost a stranger 
had reached him; but the writer being a woman, 
with exampled courtesy, then and there, he acknowl- 
edged it. 

So, these hasty words, valued highly then, are 
doubly precious now as they look back at me from 
this old card that recalls so much. And this strong, 
clear " William McKinley " — it is more than a mere 
sign manual, it is a symbol, a manifestation of char- 
acter. There is no reticence about a signature. In 
the slang of to-day, " it gives the writer away, every 
time." The name William McKinley would lend 
itself so splendidly to the flourishing, spread-eagle 
style of the skilled penman. Why it could be fairly 
tied up in loop and flourish and understroke — but 
instead absolutely without the vanity of curlycues 
or the affectation of illegibility, it is written clearly, 
boldly, simply. There is no laziness to be found in it, 
every letter is there, well formed, and the signature, 
legible to all, is an index to the character of the 
simple, brave, duty-loving man, whose sign-manual 
it was. 

I put my card away for safety, and doing so I 
recall that bitter winter's night in Cleveland, when I 
first saw the man whose death has moved the world. 
At the theatre we shivered in our dressing-rooms, and 
jested over the probability of people preferring the 
cheerful company of their picturesque steam radi- 
ators to the large unfriendly draughts of the chilly 
opera house. For there is no better city than Cleve- 



206 THE LIFE OF A STAR 

land for the location of an energetic cold wave, since 
Erie is always ready to blow into the game of having 
fun with freezing citizens — and we were united in 
our expectations of a light house and also in our envy 
of those who remained in comfortable homes. The 
curtain went up with a lonely, rattling rush upon the 
first act of " The New Magdalen." In the entrance a 
member of the company, bundled in shawls, was push- 
ing up her sleeves, while describing her sufferings 
from the cold, and as I approached, she addressed 
me, saying : " I have newly established a fleshly 
school of acting." Then at my raised brows, the 
wretch stretched out her bare arm all bristling with 
the cold, and suavely added: "See — a goose-freshly 
school!" 

And ordering her instantly to the public execution 
she richly deserved, I turned laughingly and looked 
across the stage right into the private box. Looked — 
and ceased to laugh. Looked — stared, until the cold 
of actual fear was added to that of the low tempera- 
ture. His back to the " house," his face to the stage, 
his arms folded high upon his chest, a man sat there 
alone. White as marble, immovable as stone, the 
down-pouring light from a chandelier directly above 
his head, made cavernous shadows about his fixedly 
gazing eyes — but the likeness! Good Heaven! the 
chilling likeness! The great brow, strong eyebrows, 
prominent nose, set lips, firm chin, settling toward the 
somewhat old-fashioned neckwear — but all so still, 
so coldly immovable — was it after all only a portrait 
and a trick of light? A picture of Suddenly I 



major Mckinley— a memory 207 

appealed to a man approaching behind me: 
" What — 'er — who — 'er — is that over there? " 

The man leaned over me to see better, started 
violently and exclaimed: " Good God! look at 
Daniel Webster — sitting in the box! " 

" Oh! " I gasped, " can you see it, too? " 

Which brought forth the censorious remark: 
" You have believed me to be afflicted with double- 
cataract, evidently? " 

But sarcasm was wasted on me just then, for in 
answer to my cue I was entering, speaking my first 
lines in the opposite direction. When I faced that box 
and its motionless occupant — and met full the steady, 
penetrating glance of the eyes that alone seemed alive 
in that waxen mask, I wavered, stammered and for 
the only time in their lives my companions saw me 
stand one instant helpless as any debutante. Then, 
tightening up my nerves, I said to myself: " Man — 
picture or ghost ! I must go on ! " and I did so. 

The woman playing the opposite part gazed up at 
me with amazement and whispered: "What is it — 
are you ill? " 

She sat with her back to the box, and presently I 
murmured, under cover of her stage speech: " Look 
behind you ! " 

Slowly she turned her head — as I took up my stage 
reply — then she started fairly out of her chair, sank 
back again heavily and almost aloud, exclaimed: 
"Daniel Webster!" 

It was a genuine comfort to me to know others 
could see the wonderful resemblance the man bore 



2o8 THE LIFE OF A STAR 

to the great dead. The act was no sooner over than 
man and woman were asking who was in the box — 
and though I had a quick change of costume to make, 
I, too, demanded information on that point, and a 
property-boy dropped the fireplace he was carrying 
away on his head, that he might look sharper daggers 
at me — while exclaiming reproachfully: " Well, this 
is a cold night ! I thought you was an Ohio woman, 
Miss Morris — yet here you are asking who is our 
Major McKinley ! " He took his fireplace upon his 
head again, muttering: " That's what I call rough ! " 
while excited and pleased I flew to my dressing-room, 
announcing over the transom to all and sundry, that 
it was not the great shade Webster who was in the 
box, but the great reality — Major McKinley. 

Through all the five long acts of that play, Mr. 
McKinley's concentrated attention never wavered. 
Everyone did their best, the men in particular seemed 
put upon their mettle by the presence and the manner 
of the famous man. He sat quietly during the action 
of the play, but at each fall of the curtain he ap- 
plauded generously, then folded his arms and waited 
for what came next. 

At the close of the performance I was asked if I 
would like to meet Ohio's great speaker, and a few 
moments later big and cheery Mr. Hanna was giving 
me cordial greeting and presenting the man whose 
fame was even then spreading like the green bay tree, 
far, far beyond the bounds of his own State — and as 
our hands and eyes met, I gave an exclamation of 
astonishment. The ready smile, the bright, quick eye, 






major Mckinley— a memory 209 

the genial manner made him seem positively boyish in 
comparison with the stern immobility of his former 
manner. 

My husband, the manager, and Mr. Hanna were 
wrestling with political questions, and Mr. McKinley 
and I were exchanging jests and weather stories, when 
I suddenly remarked that our play could hardly have 
been to his taste and its length must have wearied 
him? 

"On the contrary!" he quickly answered. " On 
the contrary! " The smiles disappeared, the lips set 
themselves firmly, the penetrating expression came 
to his eyes — suddenly he wore the Webster look 
again, as he went on : " It's a good play — it's a moral 
play. I followed it with interest. She had a noble 
character, that woman [Mercy Merrick]. I thought 
once she was lost — that she was going under, but," 
a gleam lighting his eyes, " she did redeem herself 
after all. I tell you what, that was a fine sight and a 
fine moment, when she conquered herself there!" 
and all the actress in me bowed in gratitude before 
the man who could so far yield himself up to his own 
imagination and the influence of the play, as to speak 
of its creatures as real human beings, and to rejoice 
in their moral victories. 

Another remark of his I carefully hoarded up for 
the pleasure of some of the members of my company. 
He said: "By the way, Miss Morris, your gentle- 
men who played military parts to-night were more 
like real soldiers than any I ever saw on the stage 
before." 



210 THE LIFE OF A STAR 

These words I faithfully repeated where they 
would do the most good, but remained silent as to 
the next ones. For with eyes all dancing with fun, he 
added: "That's a clever fellow that does the Ger- 
man army surgeon." 

" Why," I said, " I thought his dialect open to 
suspicion? " 

11 Oh, bother the dialect," answered Mr. McKin- 
ley, " that was good enough — it got its laugh, but as 
he did not even know where to feel for a pulse, I 
wondered what would become of him when he came 
to the handling of that wound, but " — he threw back 
his head and laughed at the memory — " he was 
clever though, for he turned his broad, broad back 
to the audience and performed a delicate operation 
quite successfully all in the dark." Truly he had 
given undivided attention to the performance. 

Knowing Mr. McKinley to be a noble orator, I 
was much amused to hear him indulge in a real 
country boy's colloquialism, while when he was moved 
to sudden hearty laughter he would strike his right 
foot sharply upon the ground and whirl lightly about 
on it — a movement inexpressibly youthful, and one 
I had not seen since out at school in Portage county, 
where the big boys did it at the climax of some out- 
rageous fishing story. 

Once I asked: " Mr. McKinley, has anyone ever 
mentioned your resemblance " — his quick half-an- 
noyed glance said someone had, but I went on — 
" mentioned your resemblance — which at some mo- 
ments is very marked — to Daniel Webster?" 



major Mckinley— a memory 21 i 

And soldier, statesman and orator as he was, 
he found no better answer than an averted head, a 
little push of the hand and a petulant: "Oh, go 
'long!" 

Everyone in the room broke into laughter — so un- 
expected and in such delicious contradiction to the 
man's already exalted position, was that rustic, almost 
bashful: "Oh, go 'long! " 

We had resumed our chat and were arguing hotly 
over an undiagnosed pain that tormented him, he 
claiming it was neuralgia, while I declared for 
plain old-fashioned toothache, and was casting doubts 
upon his willingness — Major as he was — to meet the 
dentist in force the next morning, when Mr. Hanna, 
glancing at his watch, interrupted with : " Trains — 
Major — trains ! " 

He did not hear the warning, but began with mock 
gravity to explain how much nerve was required to 
make a man come out from the breastworks and, all 
empty-handed and unarmed, to face a scientific pain 
inflictor; and got no further, for a strong arm was 
flung about his shoulders and a big voice cried : " Boy ! 
that Columbus train won't wait, you know! " 

Instantly responding to the affectionate reminder, 
Mr. McKinley was buttoning his overcoat, diving for 
gloves into all the pockets where they were not, show- 
ing such eager determination to be on time — that a 
life might have been hanging in the balance. There 
had been no halting, no — " just one moment " — no 
hurried finishing of his remarks — but an instant drop- 
ping of " chaff " and a swift, whole-souled return to 



212 THE LIFE OF A STAR 

the business demanding his attention. A small thing, 
but characteristic, I think. 

He offered his hand in farewell, and I remarked : 
" So you are in the train-catching line, too, Major? 
That has been my business — lo, these many 
years ! " 

As he shook my hand he gave a roguish glance at 
some brilliants on my fingers and answered: "Well, 
you seem not only to have caught all your trains but 
a good many other things besides." 

He struck his right foot sharply, whirled lightly 
about on it, and added: " I hope I may be as lucky 
catching my trains ! " and laughing brightly back at 
me he left the room, having had the last jest, and in 
spite of time honoured precedent the last word — 
which should of course have been mine. 

As general " good-nights " were exchanged, my 
manager entered to hand me some papers. He knew 
Mr. Hanna and greeted him, and I heard the kindly 
though hurried words : " I'm sorry Smith, I haven't 
time to introduce Major McKinley — we've got to 
make that Columbus train." 

" I'm sorry, too," was the answer, " very sorry, 
for Mr. McKinley is growing a great man." 

Mr. Hanna became motionless — his face set — his 
eyes had a strained intentness as he looked straight at 
the other man, and then in a level tone, said: 
"Wait! " The silence that followed was unbroken, 
Mr. Hanna passing through the open door — there 
he paused, turned his grave intent look once more 
upon us, and repeated : " Wait! " 



MAJOR McKINLEY— A MEMORY 213 

All the world knows now what there was to wait 
for, but Mr. Hanna seemed to know even then. 
Shrewd, clear-sighted man that he was, he was taking 
a long look ahead. But then he knew himself and 
almost as well he knew the man whom he had that 
night affectionately called " Boy ! " and there was a 
thrilling prophecy in that terse word : u Wait! " 

One more glimpse was I to have of the man whose 
simple goodness rivals his greatness. I was to catch 
one gleam of that devotion to his gentle wife, that 
was the perfect flower of man's love for woman, a 
flower whose perfume to-day sweetly stimulates a 
nation. 

We were again in Columbus. A cheerless, unpleas- 
ant evening with a threat of rain in the heavy air and 
that nerve racking play " Article 47 " was on the 
programme. Worn, weary from a day of neuralgia, 
I left my dressing-room with nerves and spirits far 
below concert pitch and only felt a very mild curiosity 
as to the cause of the gathering of my people in the 
first entrance, and their efforts to see the occupants 
of the box opposite. Then I heard one of the local 
men — a carpenter — saying, rather excitedly: " Yes, 
that's her — sure as you live ! I wonder at it too. It's 
not a nice night for well people — and Lord ! but he 
is careful of her." 

11 Whom is he speaking of ? " I asked as I glanced 
across and dimly saw a lady sitting in an armchair, 
so well in the shadow of the box curtains that all 
I could distinguish about her was her fine brow and 
her paleness. But before my question was answered 



2i 4 THE LIFE OF A STAR 

the Governor came forward and seated himself, and 
with a pang of regret, I realised that the frail little 
lady was Mrs. McKinley. Regret that she had been 
brought to see that most unsuitable play, containing 
as it did the shooting of a woman and a fearful 
representation of madness. 

The performance began with Mr. McKinley in a 
front seat, smiling back brightly now and then at his 
wife, as if sharing with her any bit of fun or clever- 
ness that appeared. Then came the quarrel — the vio- 
lent threat, and the shooting. Instantly he rose and as 
I accepted the call before the curtain, I saw him 
speaking earnestly to her and I was sure he was urg- 
ing her to retire. But she smiled up at him and kept 
shaking her head, therefore she was still there when 
I again appeared, which was not till the third act. 
As the scene grew ever more threatening, advancing 
plainly toward a tragedy, Mr. McKinley's interest in 
it died. His interest was centred in the precious little 
woman in the shadow there. His back went to the 
stage, his eyes followed the changing expression of 
her face. Oh, how I hoped someone would persuade 
her to leave before that last dreadful scene ! But, no ! 
As the curtain rose she was still there in her chair; 
he however had evidently learned of the nature of 
the final act, for during all the scene of madness he 
never sat. Standing with his arm circling the top of 
her chair, his down-bent eyes never left her face for 
one moment, and when at the sound of the first gib- 
bering laugh several women in front gave startled 
little cries, he stooped quickly and laid his hand on 



major Mckinley— a memory 215 

hers, though she had made no movement visible to 
me. 

He kept his attitude of watchful protection un- 
broken to the end. When at last it was all over, he 
must have been a thankful man. He seized his wife's 
wrap quickly, but, courteous gentleman that he al- 
ways was, at the final curtain call he cast it over his 
arm a moment, to give a few perfunctory hand claps 
for a performance that, in his anxiety for another, he 
had not seen. 

Another gentleman entered the box just then, and 
carefully cloaking his wife, Governor McKinley gave 
her his arm and, the second gentleman walking on her 
left, they retired from the box. And then I saw a 
charming — even a moving thing. The audience — a 
large one, was on its feet, had faced eagerly toward 
the doors when Governor McKinley appeared sup- 
porting his wife and moving slowly. In one instant — 
without command, without suggestion, but moved by 
a beautiful impulse, it stood a moment, then, the 
people having drawn together quickly — clearing a 
broad passageway right to the centre door — they 
stood like so many statues of reverence while Gov- 
ernor and Mrs. McKinley made their slow progress 
out of the theatre. At the door, he turned and waved 
his hand in acknowledgment of their courtesy; and 
then only did they begin to chatter and to push and 
crowd after the true American fashion. It had been 
an almost involuntary expression of tender sympathy 
for the woman's delicacy and the man's solicitude, 
and that moment of the self-effacement of a whole 



216 THE LIFE OF A STAR 

great crowd of people never returns quickly to my 
memory without bringing its thrill with it. 

And now — and now ! this Christian gentleman has 
been " pushed from his stool " by the hand of a 
worthless youth! It is strange — it is terrible! That 
beautiful bond of wedded love is broken and for the 
first time in all her sheltered, guarded life Ida Saxton 
McKinley is standing alone. But standing, observe. 
There is race in that woman, and courage and en- 
durance. William McKinley had not shown such 
reverent loyalty all these years to a weakling. The 
"band was not playing " Hail to the Chief," or " See 
the Conquering Hero Comes," all through their 
married life. The wail of the dirge was known to 
them. Twice she faced death to win for him a higher 
title than any the world can give, and for herself the 
crown of motherhood — only to be discrowned at last ! 
Together they faced the sharpest agony that can 
come to married lovers — the loss of their little ones. 
Aye, every one was taken from them and their " house 
left unto them desolate." 

Yet there the woman's courage rose. They had 
taken one another for better, for worse — could any- 
thing be worse than that? Exchanging a glance of 
anguish each was found reflected in the other's tear- 
ful eyes, and just so each was enthroned in the other's 
heart. Each bore up bravely for the other's sake. A 
courageous woman — she leaned upon her husband, 
so paying him the sweetest flattery man may ever 
know. For the weak woman leans upon anyone, but 



major Mckinley— a memory 217 

the strong woman leans only upon the man she 
honours and most tenderly loves. 

So though Mr. McKinley had in him such dogged 
loyalty that when the pink rose faded on the dear 
one's cheek, he truly found the white rose fairer and 
daintier by far. There was much in his wife's char- 
acter to win his admiration, to command respect. 
That fine brow explains why he confided his business 
affairs to her. The brightness and sweetness of ex- 
pression explains why he spent so many evenings at 
home with her. Their babies gone — they had to be 
sufficient each for the other. Very surely Mrs. Mc- 
Kinley was companion, friend and counsellor — as well 
as petted invalid to the noble man God gave her for 
her true spouse. 

She is a brave woman — a God-loving woman ; and 
the " kindly light " that led upward and onward for 
so many years the steps of her statesman husband, 
when her tear-blinded eyes can lift themselves from 
the "dust," — that "kindly light" steady, tender, 
beautiful, will lead her on, just step by step, until at 
last all the world will see the frail, lonely woman, 
giving beautiful obedience to that last soul-moving 
behest of the dying Christian husband : " Bear up, 
Ida— it is God's will!" 

Yes, God's will ! but oh, true it is : " God moves in 
a mysterious way His wonders to perform ! " 



XIV 
A CONVERT TO THE PLAY 

HIS name was Joel Woodley, and I knew him 
first at a period of my life where he himself 
described me as mostly eyes, braids and 
apron. A square-browed, square-bearded, squarely 
built man, whose stern silence was but a cloak for 
unfailing kindness. He was a Christian whose re- 
ligion was so vital and so strong that it could bear 
the wear and tear of the six days of labour in addition 
to the calmer service of the churchly Sabbath. 

Never out of his native city, his time was fairly 
divided between his church, his paper factory and his 
home. Romance had touched him once, when on his 
twentieth birthday he had seen for the first time the 
tall, ruddy, laughing girl who changed the world for 
him into a place of joy and never failing sunlight. 
Nearly six years followed of such hard work, such 
skimping, pinching, saving, that he grew to know the 
drop of nectar that underlies the bitter draught of 
self-denial, and if he saw her through roseate glasses 
then, he had surely never cast them off since with 
rough, impatient hand. 

For the buxom woman at his side, whom he saw 
with greying hair and telltale wrinkles, tenderly re- 
juvenated by the rosy light of romantic love, seemed 
to him all unchanged, the smooth faced, laughing 
creature of his boyish love. While yet the testing 

218 



A CONVERT TO THE PLAY 219 

sorrows, losses, struggles of twenty-five long years 
spent together had proved her the tenderest, bravest, 
most loyal of wives, and though beyond a doubt old 
Joel believed he placed his God first and foremost and 
far above all earthly treasure or joy, those who knew 
him well and valued him greatly were convinced that 
in truth he loved his wife far beyond his hopes of 
heaven. Be that as it may, he at one time proved that 
his love for her was greater than his fear of hell — a 
place of whose actual existence he had no doubt at all. 

That Joel Woodley's word was as good as his 
bond was a belief so firmly established with those 
whom he dealt with that many of the smaller dealers 
used to object to ordinary business forms, saying they 
didn't want any receipts or acknowledgments or 
signed bits of paper from Joel Woodley, as they 
reckoned his word was worth all the ink and pens in 
town. 

And he would remark: — "Well, but you see no 
man knoweth when his call may sound. A sudden 
passing away often leaves such confusion and un- 
certainty for others to struggle with that a bit of 
signed paper becomes very helpful. Better take your 
proper receipt." And his wise old eyes would smile 
kindly at them. I was a member of his Sunday-school 
class, and the pharisaical rattle of my stiff little skirts 
used to seem to announce that I was not like unto 
other little girls, who were later, but ever was I first, 
to arrive, and Mr. Woodley always patted my cheek 
and said: "That's right; that's right; always be 
prompt." 



220 THE LIFE OF A STAR 

His youngest daughter, who was in school parlance 
" a big girl," lifted me to dizzy heights of pride by 
noticing me; nay, going to such astounding lengths 
of condescension as to ask me to her house, where she 
wrestled laboriously with an ancient and ill-tempered 
melodeon and with what little breath she had left 
helped us to sing hymns. 

Thus it was that I became an unobserved witness 
of a struggle between Joel Woodley, man of his word, 
and Joel Woodley, loving father, and know which 
Joel won. 

He had an only son, a bright, clever lad, but who 
spent the greater part of his time in getting in and 
out of trouble. Never a sneak, never untruthful, he 
was more mischievous than a whole shipload of mon- 
keys, and playing hookey from school was as the 
wine of life to him. One day his father received a 
note of complaint from the teacher anent the irreg- 
ularity of Eddie's attendance, and Mr. Woodley's 
rare anger was suddenly ablaze. With stern words 
he denounced the treachery and deceit of such con- 
duct, pointing out to the boy the triple wrong he had 
done — to teacher, father and himself — when sud- 
denly his own words brought him to a halt. He had 
just declared that if Eddie ever repeated the of- 
fence he would thrash him with his own hands. The 
boy's amazed face made him shuffle uncomfortably 
about, but he added — " Well, since I have said it, my 
boy, I shall surely keep my word — so remember." 

Three weeks later, on a very hot day, the murmur 
and wash of lake water filled Ned's ears and tempted 



A CONVERT TO THE PLAY 221 

him to his fall; he ran away to go in swimming, and 
was found out. 

I was at the Woodley house that day, and with the 
cat sagging in my brief lap sat outside in the back 
garden and through the veracious pages of a Sunday- 
school library book I was assisting at the many con- 
versions made by a small Christian at the tender age 
of five years, when I heard Mr. Woodley usher Ned 
into the woodshed behind me. His voice sounded 
queer as he said: " I told you, Eddie, what I should 
do if you offended again, and I must keep my word. 
Wait in there for me." 

" But, father," said Ned, as all the children called 
him, " you never hit me before." 

" No, and I pray God I may never have to do it 
again." 

" But, father," anxiously continued Ned, " you 
won't whip me if I promise not to do it again, will 
you, father? " 

" No honest man breaks his word, my boy. So 
stay in there till I come back." 

He passed quite close, but did not see me. At the 
foot of the garden were some young trees and a few 
berry canes. Presently he came slowly back with a 
long green gad in his hand. Before going into the 
shed he paused and tried a blow or two, and as the 
tough, strong thing cut through the air with a hiss he 
shut his eyes and shuddered. Again he put out his 
hand toward the closed door of the shed, again 
paused, stood a moment with his head low on his 
breast. Then he looked cautiously about him, took 



222 THE LIFE OF A STAR 

in the empty upper windows, and, slowly drawing out 
his pocket knife, he opened it, closed it, then with 
desperate haste reopened it and carefully made one, 
two slits in the side of his rod of punishment. 

I, who was singularly well acquainted with various 
methods of childish punishment, had squirmed at the 
sight of the slender green strength of the thing, know- 
ing how its flexibility would circle bitingly about 
small legs. I understood in a flash that Joel Wood- 
ley's fatherly heart had failed him, and that he was 
hedging at the keeping of his word by weakening the 
gad so that it could bear but few blows without 
breaking. Oh, stern face and tender heart ! He went 
in then and, with Spartan courage, flogged his erring 
offspring to the extent of three blows, when the gad 
strangely split. Still he went on until it broke and 
Ned blessed his good luck; and the story crept about, 
and church people, nodding approvingly, told how 
Brother Joel had worn a green gad to pieces over 
that handful of his, Eddie. 

Now in this man, generally just, generous and 
godly, there was one single streak of intolerance. To 
mention the theatre to him was to set him stammering 
with the force and violence of his wrath, his warning 
and entreaties. He knew nothing on earth about the 
theatre save that it was denounced from the pulpit, 
and that once in his youth he had heard an earnest old 
burning lake style of preacher boldly declare it to be 
" the glittering gate of hell," and he had shudderingly 
accepted this figurative statement as fact capable of 
proof. To inform him that some young couple of 



A CONVERT TO THE PLAY 223 

his acquaintance had been to the play was to give him 
a painful shock, and he would retreat to the hall and 
walk restlessly up and down, with hands clasped be- 
hind him and down-bent, troubled face. He seemed 
to think the theatre a place of loose and noisy mirth, 
where great license of speech was indulged in and, in 
the language of his beloved Bible, every " superfluity 
of naughtiness " allowed, including dance music. 
When people pointed out that such a place as that 
would repel the refined men and women who found 
such charm in theatres he instantly declared that in 
that uncanny charm was the proof positive of the 
theatre's commerce and close relation with the devil. 
He would not listen to explanation or description; 
intractable and stubborn he seemed to be from a great 
fear. 

And then the day came that brought him news of 
my going upon the stage. " What! " he cried, as he 
dropped into a chair. " That clear-eyed little girl, 
with such marked religious leaning, who learned so 
many verses and was always first in class? Better she 
had entered a den of wild beasts than that place of 
sin! " And that night he prayed long and earnestly 
for my rescue, but in very dejected, hopeless tones. 
Dear old Joel! I can be but grateful for the good 
man's prayers, even if he was a trifle doubtful of 
their efficacy. 

The years passed — crowded, busy years. Now 
and again I met on the street the buxom, smiling 
Mrs. Woodley, and the daughter who had stooped to 
me in my days of humiliating youth, and they were 



224 THE LIFE OF A STAR 

ever genial and hearty in their greetings, but no word 
was spoken of Joel Woodley, and I felt quite sure 
he counted me as with the lost. 

More time passed, and, after pushing at it long 
and hard, the wheel of fortune turned for me and, lo ! 
— I was back in the old home city to play a star 
engagement. As the first Western actress to receive 
the stamp of Eastern approval, the town felt called 
upon " to rear up and paw the air," as a certain 
Alderman put it, and the papers did all that down- 
right goodwill could prompt or devise to make the 
week memorable. Of course, under all the general 
excitement, old-time friends grew fairly flighty, and I 
took pains to send to one elderly lady, who had known 
me from babyhood, three tickets for Friday night. 
This Mrs. Bowen was a near neighbour of Mrs. 
Woodley, and promptly she entered Joel Woodley's 
domestic Eden and tempted his wife with the for- 
bidden fruit of dramatic entertainment. 

" Oh ! " cried the tempted one, " and here's the 
paper announcing that the house is sold out entire for 
Wednesday and Thursday and only a few seats left 
for Friday and Saturday. Oh, I must not lose this 
chance ! Clarie was such a nice little girl, there can't 
be any harm in going to see little Clarie. Mrs. Bowen, 
you just hold on tight to that ticket for me until I 
send you word." 

Joel Woodley went perfectly white when Ellen, 
his wife, asked his permission to go to the theatre. 
When he could speak, he said slowly: " I have never 
ordered your outgoings or your incomings; you are 



A CONVERT TO THE PLAY 225 

free, dear; you must decide the matter for your- 
self." 

But his frightened eyes beseeched her. She looked 
away, but the sight of the paper lying on the table 
renewed her longing. She hesitatingly said: "I 
couldn't go, of course, Joel, if you were to be angry 
with me." 

Very gently he asked : " Have I ever been angry 
with you, my wife? No. This matter lies between 
your conscience and yourself, and you alone can de- 
cide it. Let us go to dinner, now; Eddie and daughter 
are waiting." 

On Wednesday, moved thereto by the excited story 
of one who had been to the theatre, Mrs. Woodley 
suddenly took the bit between her teeth, broke away 
from all restraining doubts and fears, and bravely 
announced the intention of going to the play herself 
on Friday night. 

On Friday morning she rose in a state of excited 
anticipation she had not known since her far-off 
dancing days. As he was about to leave the house her 
husband said slowly, painfully: " Ellen, send over to 
Mrs. Bowen, and see if she has given away that other 
ticket," and drawing a deep breath he added: " If 
you will go to that place, my wife, I — why, I must go 
with you, that's all." 

He evidently felt that if he shared in his wife's 
sad folly he might safely take the onus of their 
wrongdoing upon himself, and so stand between this 
woman God had given him and the questioning, con- 
demnatory remarks of the brethren. 



226 THE LIFE OF A STAR 

That he suffered greatly was plainly seen. I had 
the story of that night from Mrs. Bo wen and Mrs. 
Woodley both. They said he looked like a con- 
demned unfortunate going to public execution. Once, 
while in the street car, Mrs. Bowen felt compelled to 
lay a friendly hand upon his knee and say : " Don't 
take it so hard, Brother Woodley." But Brother 
Woodley gave her such a look of accusing woe that, 
in her own words, " She didn't darst open her lips 
again." 

When in painful silence they reached the theatre, 
the great arch of gaslight over the door seemed ac- 
tually to frighten old Joel. However, Ellen led the 
way and needs must he followed her within " the 
glittering gates." When they had found their seats 
the women tried to look cheerful and chat a little as 
others did — but were painfully conscious all the time 
of that stony image of disapproval in the aisle seat. 

At the crashing bars of the overture, Joel started 
violently, then shut his eyes and held tight to the 
end, though his superstitious fears must have tortured 
him with hideous mental pictures, to bring such drops 
of perspiration to his pallid face. 

Then the curtain rushed up, showing the interior 
of a tumble-down hut and he was facing the first play 
of his life, " The New Magdalen." Some officers 
came and went, then suddenly a great tumult of ap- 
plause burst forth — it was deafening. He glanced 
about frowningly. "What's the matter?" he asked. 
His wife shook her head at him. He looked back at 
the stage. A woman had come on. She wore a shabby 



A CONVERT TO THE PLAY 227 

black gown, a large white apron, and carried over her 
arm some towels and bandages. Then he caught sight 
of the badge on her left sleeve. His eyes brightened. 
He whispered eagerly, " Do you see what she is wear- 
ing, Ellen — that's the red cross of Geneva, and she's 
a good woman, for she's a nurse." But the woman 
was speaking and her voice acted like a galvanic 
shock upon the three, the women catching at each 
other's hands and whispering, " That's Clarie ! as 
sure as you're alive, it's Clarie 1 Oh, Joel, don't you 
know her? " 

But Joel no longer knew his own name, age, home 
address, or present situation. Like a whirling golden 
cloud the fascination of the play had caught him up 
and carried him beyond and out of himself. He was 
as the very gods, looking into the hearts and the souls 
of these people and comprehending their very 
thoughts. With trembling pity he had watched the 
temptation, the struggle and the fall of that tired- 
faced nurse, who, they said, used to be little Clarie. 
When the curtain had fallen, he sat silent, with hands 
clenched on his knees, waiting in a sort of daze for 
the continuation of that story of human life. What 
he thought, no one knew. He seemed not to heed the 
music and the applause made him frown and shrink. 

At last they reached the closing act of the play. 
With splendid moral courage, the woman, the sin- 
stained Mercy Merrick, had abandoned her ill-gotten 
position of security, had made full restitution and was 
ready to go back, friendless and alone to the poverty 
and pollution of the nightmare world she had come 



228 THE LIFE OF A STAR 

from. Yet one last sacrifice was demanded of her — 
that she tell the dreadful story of her life, simply, 
truly, to the two men who loved her — one with a 
selfish, weak and petulant passion, the other with an 
adoration that had been godlike if less tenderly 
human. 

Thus standing before these two judges, with proud 
head bowed, there was a moment of dead silence that 
strained spectators' nerves to the point of pain. The 
two women with Joel Woodley watched him anx- 
iously. His face was twitching nervously; his hands 
opening and closing rapidly. Then Mercy Merrick, 
looking back into the murky, dismal past, began her 
story, with her wretched childhood, and presently her 
low, monotonous voice was saying: 

" I was just six years old and I was half dead from 
starvation." (Joel choked audibly. The voice went 
on relentlessly.) " A carriage stood near the walk — 
an old lady sat in it — the rain was falling — the night 
was coming on — and I begged, openly, loudly, as 
only a hungry child can beg ! " 

With a groan Joel Woodley started from his chair, 
saying decidedly, " I'm going home." 

Mrs. Woodley caught him by the hand, whisper- 
ing, all red-faced, " Joel, sit down." Yet even as he 
sank back into his chair he remonstrated, " But I 
can't stand it, dear ! " Several hysterical sobs fol- 
lowed the interruption, but not a soul laughed. 

When the green curtain fell he rose with the rest 
and passed his hand several times over his eyes and 
brow, as one waking from sleep. In tones of great 



A CONVERT TO THE PLAY 229 

satisfaction Mrs. Woodley called his attention to a 
party leaving one of the boxes. " Is not that the 
Mayor and his family? " she asked. 

" Yes," he answered, and then began to look about, 
noting the shape and furnishings of the auditorium. 
Presently he expressed a naive wonder at the quality 
of the people present, and then a great stillness fell 
on him till they had left the crowded car and were 
slowly walking through the midnight silence of their 
quiet street of homes. 

The women had murmured an appointment to talk 
it all over the next day. Joel, lifting his face to the 
starry heavens, muttered: " Thy arrows are very 
sharp," and a little further on, again and in a most 
contrite voice, " For whosoever exalteth himself shall 
be abased." Then, as they neared her home, he said, 
" Sister Bowen, I have to thank you for helping to 
teach me a lesson to-night. I have been listening to 
sermons since my boyhood, but that play is the great- 
est sermon I have ever heard; with more power to 
convict of sin, to move to pity and repentance." 

Two astonished women stood and stared. Then 
Mrs. Bowen, in mild deprecation, ventured with, 
" Well, perhaps, all plays are not such beneficial 
teachers as this one, and maybe some actors are of a 
lower degree than those we saw to-night." But Joel 
only smiled a little, while saying, " No doubt, no 
doubt; but I have presumed to judge and condemn a 
body of people of whom I knew nothing. I was 
wrong. Good night, Sister Bowen." 

As husband and wife walked slowly onward she at 



2 3 o THE LIFE OF A STAR 

last ventured rather timidly, " What did you think of 
little Clarie, Joel?" 

He smiled " It's very good of you, Ellen, not to 
remind me of how I have long counted her with the 
utterly lost. She had me on the rack to-night. Why, 
it seemed to me that all the sorrow of all the sinning 
women in the world was pleading through her voice 
and weeping through her eyes. She may be doing the 
very work she was created for— I'll judge no more." 
And silently they entered their quiet dwelling place. 

Dear old Joel! The last time I looked upon his 
kindly face the footlights, like a crescent of fire, 
blazed between us, and there were pitying tears upon 
his cheeks, but though I saw him no more I received 
a message of his own writing that only reached me 
after his most Christian departure upon that last 
journey he looked to find not long, but brief as the 
winking of the human eye. 

• • • • • 

" Come with me to the old home for at least a few 
minutes " — but time was precious and I hesitated. 
" Please, there is something there for you." 

Her brave eyes were misty ; I knew she was refer- 
ring to Joel — so I went with her. And standing be- 
fore the polished shell of the sulky old melodeon I 
seemed to see through the dimness the serious face of 
Mr. Woodley, the romping Ned, the sedate Ella, 
and also the childish visitor of long braids and white 
apron. 

I listened to the fond foolish stories of school 
triumphs, of family happenings, of mischievous 



A CONVERT TO THE PLAY 231 

pranks discovered — all told and heard with that trem- 
ulous, uncertain laughter that is but a transparent 
screen for tears; and then I found myself standing 
before a small table in the bright, sunny place she still 
called " our room " in memory of a blessed compan- 
ionship of years. 

She laid her hand upon my arm and said: " I'm 
quite certain you never bore a grudge to Joel for the 
bitterness of his speech against your profession when 
he spoke in blackest ignorance. Oh, I know, my dear, 
and I know, too, that you used to be right fond of 
him in your little girl days; and just because of that 
I want you to know how sincere he was. I want you 
to see this because it will bear witness for him." 

She gently drew aside a silken covering and said: 
" That's Joel's own Bible, Clarie ; open it, please." 

There was a certain pathetic dignity about the 
worn and faded book, and seeing me hesitate, Mrs. 
Woodley put out her hand and opened it, and in a 
moment her words were proved true. 

There was nothing stiff and niggardly in the open- 
ing of the volume. Turn to any part and the pages 
opened widely, completely, with a kind of welcome to 
their contents, a habit of old, much handled books. 
The yellowing leaves were so worn and thin at their 
lower corners that the use of a kind of spatula, made 
of thick writing paper, was necessary to turn them 
with safety. 

" Look ! Do you see those marks on the margin of 
the leaves? They were made by Joel's thumb-nail, 
and these nail-marked passages were so luminous to 



232 THE LIFE OF A STAR 

me that they explained his state of mind perfectly. 
See here, dear, was where he read and read and re- 
read the night we had been to the theatre. He left 
the book open and I looked at the page, and I found 
this deep, short thumb-mark. Read the lines he 
scored." 

It was at the tenth chapter of St. John, where Jesus 
declares himself the " Good Shepherd," and the 
heavily scored words were : " And other sheep I 
have which are not of this fold, them also I must 
bring, and they shall hear my voice, and there shall 
be one fold and one Shepherd." 

" You can follow his thought, — his self-reproach- 
ful thought, — can you not, dear? " 

I nodded, and aimlessly pushed back and forth a 
bit of folded paper lying there. " That's for you, 
Clarie — Joel wrote that for you. IVe been keeping 
it for you ever since." Written in lead pencil, it said: 

" Dear Little Clarie — that used to be : You were 
always a clever little girl. I taught you many lessons 
in the past. Last night you taught me just one, but 
it has made me a convert to the play. Your friend, 

"Joel Woodley." 



XV 

A CHIP OF THE OLD CONFEDERACY: 
JUBAL A. EARLY 

I WAS too young to really understand the great 
war when it was on. I had no father and no 
brother to explain matters to me, so my ideas 
on the subject of the mighty struggle were — well, 
peculiar, at least. I was greatly lacking in bitterness 
of spirit, and I remember that on one occasion when 
I had been sent at risk of sunstroke to read what was 
written on the bulletin board at the telegraph office, as 
I pushed through the crowd, I wept, because the killed 
on both sides were all Americans. Why — I indig- 
nantly asked — if these secession people and our aboli- 
tion people must fight, why don't they turn around 
and fight some foreign people, and not be Caining 
and Abeling each other like this? I had then, as I 
have now, the habit of forming strong likes or dis- 
likes for people unknown to me; therefore, Grant, 
Sheridan, Sherman, Custer, Hancock and Meade I 
greatly admired, while Burnside — whom, like several 
others named, I came to know later in life — I disliked 
because of his whiskers, which would not let him look 
like a fighting man. And in spite of all I read of the 
wonderful executive and constructive ability of Mc- 
Clellan, I always saw him in my imagination very 
spick and span, correct and superior in air, drawing, 

233 



234 THE LIFE OF A STAR 

on nice, white paper, plans of battles to be fought 
when all his soldiers were quite perfectly trained and 
correctly uniformed; and I used to wonder anxiously 
if the enemy would wait until he was quite ready. On 
the other side, I greatly admired J. E. B. Stuart. 
Robert E. Lee I thought quite lovely, but, for some 
mysterious reason, I always regarded him as a martyr, 
and was grateful that his people loved him so. In my 
opinion, the best thing about Jefferson Davis was his 
wife. I had never seen him pictured without her, and 
she was charming. Morgan and Forrest, I was afraid 
of; but the man I disliked, without rhyme or reason, 
but yet wholly, entirely disliked, was Jubal A. Early. 
As the years went on, I developed an undying 
curiosity about the war and everyone who took part 
in it — high or low, old or young, black or white, 
Federal or Confederate — all were marvels of inter- 
est to me if they had been in the great fight. I was 
utterly speechless with emotion when I took, in fare- 
well, the proffered hand of that beautiful wreck, 
Pauline Cushman, who left the stage to act as a spy 
in the Northern service, while my heart almost stood 
still with the wonder and the marvel of the glimpse 
I caught of a boy, small, pallid and just then wearily 
indifferent, but yet a morsel blown across my path 
from one of the bloodiest battlefields of the world — 
Shiloh. His legs had gone from under him. When 
his breath returned, he called aloud to space: " My 
drum ain't busted, but I can't reach t'other stick ! " 
and then rat-tatted as best he could, sitting, hot in 
his own blood, there in what might have seemed the 



JUBAL A. EARLY 235 

measured centre of the surely coming charge. As his 
one stick beat, rataplanning as best it might alone, his 
ghastly face, turned backward, saw the first man, 
rifle in hand who topped the low ridge, racing for- 
ward on two strong legs, furiously cursing the swing- 
ing, helpless left arm that dripped as he ran. And the 
child, with frenzy-keyed, shrill voice, screamed: 
"Man! Man! Give me my stick! I ain't got no 
legs! Oh, give me my stick, will you? And, say! 
Put me by that tree, and I'll drum all day — I will ! " 

Without pause the man with the sound legs cast 
from him the useless gun, caught up the boy, and 
swung him, drum and all, to his shoulder. He 
snatched up the second stick, brought the shattered 
little legs about his neck, and, holding them on his 
breast with his sound arm, he leaped forward, barely 
escaping submersion by the great blue wave, now 
pouring over the ridge. A wild roar of recognition 
followed in the wake of the long roll and rattle torn 
from the drum by the childish hands of the man- 
mounted drummer-boy, while he madly beat out rally, 
charge, everything he could think of save a recall. 

Then the gasping man who carried him began to 
reel in his tracks, and the drummer-boy cried, pierc- 
ingly : 

"Oh, Man! Man! Don't put me down! See — 
they're dropping like flies — and they want me to 
drum to show 'em the way to go! Don't, damn it, 
don't! Oh, God!" 

For, with a roar, the earth, the good, old patient 
earth, was hurling itself skyward, rent apart to its 



236 THE LIFE OF A STAR 

awful, flaming heart, and the boy's legs were gone 
again ! 

Then, if the mere sight of this maimed little drum- 
mer-boy so affected me, imagine how interesting I 
must have found the men who were powers during 
those four slow, dragging, bloody years of war. But 
the great struggle had been over for long years when, 
in playing a two- weeks' engagement in the city of 
New Orleans, I met that true chip of the old Confed- 
eracy — General Jubal A. Early. 

The glory of the old St. Charles Hotel having 
departed, and the new hotel being still on paper only, 
I followed the example set by others of my profes- 
sion, and took apartments in a private house. I soon 
found there was another guest there, whose room 
was on the ground floor, and from my balcony I 
often saw him coming in or going out, and my atten- 
tion was at once attracted by his odd appearance. 

He was bowed and bent at the shoulders, and 
seemed greatly to need the support of his massive old 
cane. His hair and long straggly beard were of that 
yellowish white that is the least lovely of all the 
shades of grey hair, but his costume was the oddest 
thing about him. Sunday or week-day, he was clothed 
from top to toe in a peculiar shade of grey, quite un- 
like anything I had ever seen in tailoring-goods 
before, the trousers, vest, tailed coat and big hat 
being all of that unusual grey. 

Susie, a woman who had been in service there so 
long that she had taken her employer's name, being 
in my room one day as the old man left the house, I 



JUBAL A. EARLY 237 

commented to her on his odd appearance, ending 
with : " I wonder, sometimes, if that is not the 
prison-made grey cloth formerly used by the Con- 
federate army? Give a military cut, a little black 
braid, a few brass buttons to that coat, and I almost 
believe we'd have a true Southern uniform. " 

And Susie answered: " I reckon, Miss, you don't 
know who dat ol' man is, or you'd be mighty sure of 
what cloth he's dressed in. Why, dat's ol' Mr. 
Early?" 

I turned quickly: " You don't mean the General — 
Jubal A. Early?" 

" Yaas, ma'am, dat's jes' who I do mean. He lives 
here, locked up in his own room, an' — my Lordy ! — 
how he does damn and hate all you Northern 
people ! " 

She looked at me expectantly " I reckon you North- 
erners plumb hate him back again? " 

" Good gracious, no ! " I answered, " People of 
the North are good fighters, but bad sulkers. They 
are too busy attending to their business to waste time 
hating people, even those who have been of real 
consequence." 

I saw the malicious sparkle in the woman's eyes, 
but I never dreamed she was going to avenge an un- 
deserved " blowing-up " by repeating my words to 
the General, as she did that very night. She told me of 
the lonely life of the old soldier, of his oddities, of 
his profanity with the people, and, finally, of his 
one, his only, joke. Whenever he went away to a 
soldier's reunion or funeral or the like, he always 



238 THE LIFE OF A STAR 

gave his key into Susie's own hand, forbidding her, 
on pain of death, to allow any " damned body " in 
his room — Mrs. T. no more than anyone else. Then 
he would tramp to the front door, pause, beckon her 
to him, and say, fiercely : " Look here ! If they put 
any damn' Northerner in my room, Susie — you kill 
him, do you hear? P'izen him, and leave the con- 
sequences to me! I'll see you through and stand the 
expenses of burying him besides, damn him ! " 

And that was the joke, well worn, the one and only 
joke of General Early, so far as this family knew, 
and he had lived long with them. He was very 
grumpy and gruff in manner. When he chanced to 
meet strangers in the hallway, he even muttered a 
curse, as he unlocked his door, if the intruder was 
masculine; while my silent bow, as I passed him, 
produced but a spasmodic upward jerk of the gnarled 
forefinger toward the grey, unlifted hat. And I 
smiled as I realised that the old, childish dislike for 
the man, unreasoning as ever, was still with me, 
because, perhaps, all trace of the West-Pointer, of 
the veteran soldier, had slipped away from him, in his 
appearance there being more of the lawyer, more 
of the embittered politician, than of the army 
man. 

Slipping out one day to match a skein or two of 
embroidery silk, I found, on leaving the store, that 
I was threatened with a drenching, and ran for home, 
scudding before the gale with bare poles. Mercy! 
What wind! What darkness! I was dashed up the 
three shallow steps, and, as I seized hold of the door- 



JUBAL A. EARLY 239 

knob, I laughed: " Any port in a storm," and fairly 
hurled the door back, and myself into the hall. And, 
oh, dear! Oh, dear! A big cane went flying one way, 
and a man who had had a hand upon the knob went 
the other way and struck the wall with a violence 
that forced an Indian-like " ugh ! " from his lungs as 
the door banged to. 

" I beg your pardon! Oh! I beg your pardon! " 
I gasped. 

"Wh-what the devil's the matter with you?" 
snorted the unfortunate. 

" That's -what's the matter with me! " I cried, as 
through the shrieking wind we heard the first lashing 
of the furious rain across the door. I ran, and picked 
up the cane, and placed it in his heavily veined 
hand. 

"I'm so sorry, sir," I continued; "of course, I 
could not know anyone was holding the other knob. 
It was the storm that made me so frantic to get in, 
and I'm dreadfully afraid I've hurt you badly, al- 
though I suppose you'd rather die there against the 
wall than acknowledge an injury received from a 
Northerner? " 

Something like a grim smile came to his lips, as he 
grunted: " Well, you're no fool, if you have mashed 
me up here like a mosquito against the wall. What 
a devil of a noise!" he grumbled, as he drew his 
door-key from his pocket. I saw how his hand trem- 
bled, and boldly taking the key from him, I said: 

" Please let me assist you, sir," and ran down the 
hall, and unlocked the door. 



2 4 o THE LIFE OF A STAR 

11 This is my room and home," he said, then paused 
and peered in and exclaimed: "Now, damn that 
woman ! " 

Oh, such a dreary, forbidding room, in that dim 
light! Such a dust, confusion of papers and books, 
uncomfortable chairs, coverless tables, undraped 
windows ! His frown had deepened, and, in a queru- 
lous tone of real disappointment, he said, more to 
himself than to me : " Now, where in the devil is my 
lunch? " 

Then — in spite of all I had heard of his woman- 
hating, of his unsociability — the utter forlornness of 
that room, the beating storm outside, made me bold, 
and I answered: " I don't know where your luncheon 
is, General, but I do know where mine is, and you're 
going to share it with me, unless you're afraid I'll 
poison you? " He shot a quick glance at me, but I 
went on. " You look like a tea-drinker." He nodded 
emphatically. " Then, come on," I said, " and take 
your tea with the enemy." 

" Oh ! " I gasped, as the house fairly shook. " I'm 
afraid of the storm ! Please come and lunch with me, 
won't you? " At this he laughed outright, locked his 
door securely, again punctiliously damned Susie, and 
followed me upstairs. 

My sitting-room's pictures, piano and couches, 
glorified with roses and mignonette, and made hos- 
pitable by warm, doggish welcome, seemed, by con- 
trast with that dusty desolation downstairs, a homely 
and inviting spot. The tray was already on the small 
table, but, requiring some additions to its furnishings, 



JUBAL A. EARLY 241 

I rang the bell in a darkness so great that I had to 
feel for the button. The general proposed a light. 

" The matches are right beside you, sir," I an- 
nounced, " on the mantel." I felt trouble in the air 
as I spoke, and he put his cane under his arm, and 
grabbed the little fancy receptacle. The sandpapered 
space was about an inch and a half long. He drew 
out a match, and, jerking it across the sand-paper, 
sent the flaming head flying through the air. One 
match went that way in silence, a second went with 
a stamp of the foot, a third with a snort, a fourth 
with a damn! And then he dashed the box on the 
mantel, snatched out another match, and, scratching 
it across that part of his anatomy most suited for the 
service, he had the gas lighted in an instant, and was 
telling me just what kind of fool the man was who 
had invented that particular match-safe. 

Then the recalcitrant Susie appeared and saw who 
my companion was, standing on the threshold in an 
amazement that became stupefaction when she heard 
my order. 

11 What's the matter with you, you chucklehead? " 
grimly inquired the old man. 

" W-w-why, General, you go in' to break bread 
with er Northern woman? W-w-why youVe cuss'd 
'em from Dan ter Beersheba ever since de war ! You 
is plumb hoodoo'd, you is, Marse Early ! " 

" If I had my bootjack here ! " regretfully mur- 
mured " Marse Early." At those words Susie began 
to take proper notice, and started away to get the cup, 
plate, et cetera, and I jestingly added: " Be sure you 



242 THE LIFE OF A STAR 

bring a separate pot for General Early's tea. I want 
him to feel quite safe from — er — attack of any sort, 
you know." 

I laughed as I threw off my hat and mantle, and 
he answered: "That's just like you Northerners. 
Rub it in — rub it in ! Well, I see that that fool Susie's 
been telling tales about me, and you are just what 
your infernal soldiers were, you love to rub it in. 
It's a cursed mean trait, too ! " 

" I know it. I know it! " I replied, as I held out 
my hand for his hat and cane, and pushed a chair 
toward him. " It showed itself most plainly in our 
fierce and implacable Grant at Appomattox. You 
remember how he ' rubbed it in ' about the side-arms, 
the horses and the self-respect he left to the brave 
men who had gamely lost to him! You would not 
have rubbed it in like that, would you, General? " 

He gazed angrily at me with his bright, hot-look- 
ing, dark eyes, and a fierce blast of noise from outside 
suddenly reminded me that, although the war was 
over, the storm was not, and, hastily pulling a big 
white rose from the bowl, I waved it before him, 
crying : 

" Truce, General, truce ! If you have been too 
busy all your life to learn to take a joke, you can't 
have passed through the Florida, Mexican and Civil 
ructions without learning how to carve a chicken ! " 
And I offered him the carving-knife and fork. 

He accepted them, remarking: "You're a mock- 
ing, little Northern devil ! But I'll carve the chicken 
for you." 



JUBAL A. EARLY 243 

And I added : " That's right, and we won't say 
anything more about poisoning Northerners, or rub- 
bing things into Southerners, but, like little birdies in 
a nest, we'll pick the worms that Susie brings." 

At which nonsense he broke into crackling laugh- 
ter, and then entered said Susie, with teapot, dishes, 
etcetera. Presently, she being gone, behold us vis-a- 
vis, outside the lashing storm, between us the neatly 
arranged tray and steaming silver pot; beside me, 
cushion-enthroned, the small empress of my heart, 
Lasca, who ate every currant and raisin an unwilling 
cake gave up. 

The General drank his cup of tea eagerly, as one 
who needed the refreshment. Then, in true tea-lover 
fashion, he took the second one reflectively, with 
appreciation of flavour and bouquet. 

He had partaken rather sparingly of the cold 
fowl and salad, and sat stirring the tea slowly in his 
cup, when I heard the welcome words : " Yes, I 

remember once, when we " and I knew that he 

was off for a talk. Believing that he would go on as 
long as the tea lasted, I gently, gently drew the hot- 
water pitcher nearer and secretly refilled my cup from 
that; for I was certain that once the thread of remi- 
niscence was broken, even by an order for fresh tea, 
he would take it up no more. So I sipped water, and 
listened, asking a question now and then, seizing a 
moment of excitement or a quiet unconscious explo- 
sion of swearing, to pour a little tea into his cup, that 
and sympathetic listening being the fuel that kept 
him going. 



244 THE LIFE OF A STAR 

And so he told me many things about the great 
war, and, as he talked, a curious change came over 
him; and suddenly I was reminded of that queer 
growth sometimes sold by pedlers on the street, and 
called the " Jerusalem rose." A dry, drab bunch of 
stems, it looks as dead as Herod, but, placed in a 
basin of water, it softens, uncurls, spreads out sturdy 
roots, and presently becomes green as to leaf, a sort 
of hemlocky or cedar-like green, but nevertheless 
fresh and living. And here was this bent man 
straightening up, throwing back his head and shoul- 
ders, the growling, grumpy tones becoming more 
open, more commanding. His always bright eyes 
were now hotly glowing, and something of the soldier 
came back to his bearing. Only the bitterness of the 
disappointed man remained unchanged, and its tang 
was in every sentence that he spoke. If he sneered 
contemptuously at the great men of the North, he 
was savagely critical of some of the great men of the 
South. He cursed venomously when speaking of 
" Fisher's Hill " and of Sheridan, but Custer's name 
he would not pronounce, not even when he referred 
to " Waynesboro," where he lost to the younger 
man, and, a few sad days later, found himself " re- 
lieved of his command." 

A silence had come upon him, after the speaking of 
those bitter words, " relieved of my command." He 
stared downward — oh, if I could have seen in that 
cup all that he saw there, as he stirred the tea round 
and round, while his heavily veined left hand nerv- 
ously threaded his beard ! 



JUBAL A. EARLY 245 

I did not know just what to say or do — somehow 
I always seem to know when suffering is near. I felt 
its presence then, and, meaning to break the silence 
with some casual remark, I made this criminal selec- 
tion : " Waynesboro? That was in the spring of '64, 
I think?" 

His fierce eyes leaped at my face, as a hound 
might have leapt at my throat, as he shot out the 
words: "March — '6i;\" From knitted brows to 
writhing mouth there was such a quiver of pain upon 
his face that instead of this hated date he might have 
plucked a knife from his living breast. Only a mo- 
ment's open expression, but in it there was so much 
wounded pride, anger, humiliation and pain, that 
suddenly I seemed to partly understand his bitterness, 
in looking back at the long road he had travelled 
from West Point, through the Florida War, through 
the honours of the Mexican War, through the early 
successes of the Civil War, only to find military ex- 
tinction at Waynesboro! 

" Relieved of his command " after nearly thirty 
years of service ! Staring into his cup again, he looked 
so old, so sad, so lonely, a swift impulse made me 
cry: "The greatest soldier of his time came at last 
to Waterloo ! " and, as I live, he half rose from his 
chair, and, bowing to me, said gravely : " Thank 
you, madam! " 

As he sank back, he began rolling a strand of his 
beard between his thumb and forefinger. " You have 
a kind heart," he said, " a big heart." He paused, 
then with impetuosity he exclaimed: " See here! I'd 



246 THE LIFE OF A STAR 

like you to understand things better. You — you 
damned Northerners think it's mighty funny that our 
niggers fear the power of the ' voodoo/ or, as you- 
all call it, the ' hoodoo.' A power for evil — a power 
stronger than you are. Away from the blacks, it is 
bad luck. You don't believe in it, but you'll nail a 
cursed old horseshoe over your door to keep it away, 
and none of you dare walk under a ladder, for fear 
of this bad luck! But look you here, young lady. 
Sometimes in this world it comes about that, instead 
of the nigger, it's the white man who plumb fears 
his cursed luck! It is the white man, who, in secret 
to his quaking soul, acknowledges the power of some 
* hoodoo ! ' Why, see here ! Was I not a soldier 
trained, a seasoned and experienced soldier, an honest 
man, and devoted body and soul to the ' Cause ? ' I 

served it successfully, too, at the first. I was at " 

And he rapidly pronounced the names of many bat- 
tle-fields. " A ' division ' is not given to a man who 
is a coward or a fool, and then did I change ? Never, 
in the world ! I, old Jubal Early, was as keen to plan, 
as eager to work and as ready to turn up my toes, 
as any man in the Confederacy! I did not change, 
but, by the Almighty ! my luck changed with a ven- 
geance ! On foot or on horseback, in camp or in field, 
bad luck dogged my steps. No matter how perfect 
my plans might be, how thoroughly approved by 
others, bad luck followed any attempt of mine to 
carry them through. Half-won engagements sud- 
denly lost, victory torn from your very grasp, would 
make any man believe in bad luck. My reputation 



JUBAL A. EARLY 247 

as a c Jonah ' began to spread far and wide. Why, a 
wounded, jeering devil of a prisoner said one day: 
* Oh, we knew we were going to lick you that time.' 

" ' How could you know? ' asked the Confederate 
with whom he was talking. * You were devilishly 
near to being licked yourselves ! ' 

" * That's so,' replied the prisoner, * but, all the 
same, when we heard that that unlucky old man Early 
was in command, we knew we'd win — couldn't help 
it, you know ! ' " 

The General raised his piercing old eyes with al- 
most an appeal in them, as he continued: "And, in 
God's name, was there ever such luck heard of as 
that which, at the eleventh hour, brought Sheridan on 
the field, sweeping together, as he rode, his whipped 
and fleeing men, with his cursed call : ' Face the other 
way, boys ! Face the other way ! ' and so wrenching 
away from us our hard-won victory? " 

He shook his head, sighing heavily, then he slowly 
went on : " Opequan Creek. Fisher's Hill. Cedar 
Creek. Lost guns. Lost trains. Hard luck! Hard 
luck! But," he cried, fiercely, "by God, no cow- 
ardice!" adding, "Eh? Eh?" in a tone of chal- 
lenge. 

And I answered: " General, I fancy you are the 
only person in the South who would venture to couple 
the name of Early with the word ' cowardice.' " 

In spite of the oaths and jibes and sneers at North- 
erners he had indulged in, I was feeling very sorry 
for this disappointed old soldier in his loneliness, 
when suddenly he exclaimed: " What the devil's the 



248 THE LIFE OF A STAR 

reason the vain, stiff-necked, narrow-minded women 
of the North have no hearts? For you are only an 
exception, going to prove the rule.. You Northerners 
are " 

A swift anger flared up in me, and I — Oh, shame 
to me! — (and, just see, now, how quickly " evil com- 
munications corrupt good manners") I struck the 
tray a blow that made my fingers tingle, as I cried, 
violently : " What the deuce do you mean, General 
Early, by attacking the people you know nothing 
about? The women of the North — the women of 
the North ! I don't believe you ever met a lady from 
north of your air-drawn Mason and Dixon's Line! 
I don't believe you ever came nearer to a Northern 
woman than some poor God-forgetting harpy of a 
camp-follower ! Oh, you know the class well ; you had 
plenty of them in the South who followed the army 
in grey, hovering like vultures upon the flanks of 
your own hungry troops! Creatures who had for- 
gotten girlhood — wifehood — almost their woman- 
hood ! How would you like it if I judged the women 
of the South by such creatures? Make the acquaint- 
ance of a few Northern women — if they will receive 
you — before you venture to criticise them again ! " 

I can see yet the utter astonishment upon his face, 
as, drawing a long breath, he slowly said: "Well, 
I'm damned! " 

" You will be," I laughed, " if you go on sneering 
at your own countrywomen. But I have faith to be- 
lieve you would not stand quietly by and permit a 
foreigner to speak so of them? " 



JUBAL A. EARLY 249 

" No, not by a long shot ! " he quickly answered, 
and just then a watery sunlight that yet paled the gas 
came into the room, and he sent a surprised glance 
clockward and hastily rose : " I — I — why, what have 
I been about ! " he exclaimed, confusedly. 

" You have been giving me a great pleasure, Gen- 
eral Early," I replied. 

" Humph ! Then you must have some damned 
original ideas on happiness in general." 

I laughed — be swore, but he didn't look at all 
alarming. 

" The worst of it is," he added, " I've done all the 
talking. I've dragged you clear from Chambersburg 
to Waynesboro; and I can't lay the blame of the 
gossip on you. To talk like that to a Northerner, 
when I do just p'izen-hate the North, and all " 

" Forgive me, General, but I don't believe you. 
No — I say no! You can't hate one part of your 
country — you can't. Remember that you loved, fol- 
lowed and served a flag with a whole fieldful of stars 
long years before you tried to tear out from it a 
single star to follow and serve. And now that all are 
back again — the field full once more — you are glad 
of it ! Oh, don't tell me — I know that, down in your 
heart, it's the whole flag, as it's the whole country, 
that you love ! And this ' Cause ' that is lost — what 
was it but a magnificently awful mistake, paid for by 
tens of thousands of American lives freely given for 
ideal right — sanctified by uncounted broken hearts? 
But, the * Cause ' being lost, it should be treated as 
are the beloved dead, laid at rest forever. Remem- 



2 5 o THE LIFE OF A STAR 

bered? Yes, tenderly, regretfully, but silently! Oh, 
General, I am taking my turn at the talking, now. 
But one word more, and I'll let you off. If only some 
foreign power would shake a threatening fist against 
our flag, how quickly your old soldier-heart would 
prove to you that you love your country, in its 
entirety ! " 

He shook his head. " You have a sharp tongue," 
he remarked, but not roughly, as he stooped to pick 
up his cane. 

I begged his pardon, and, taking his hat, paused 
in handing it, to ask: "Why do you do this, Gen- 
eral ?" 

He touched his ugly coat. " This? " he inquired, 
with a half-smile. 

" Yes," I answered. " It's not its artistic charm 
that wins your fidelity. Do you wear your Confeder- 
ate-grey clothing just to be, as children say, ' ag- 
gravating ' ? " 

He frowned quickly. I went on. " Or do you 
wear it as sometimes a widow wears black all her 
life long, in true mourning for her lost one? " 

He struck his hat into shape — beneath his beard 
his lips twitched nervously. 

" I wear it — in memory — of — of many things" 
he said, and there was indescribable bitterness in the 
last two words. 

" Forgive me," I said. He pressed my hand 
silently, and Susie entered and gazed with goggle- 
eyes at the clock. 

" Well, chucklehead," he snapped, " did you ex- 



JUBAL A. EARLY 251 

pect to find me dead, that you are so disappointed to 
see me living? " 

" Good Lordy! " grinned Susie. 

" You are just in time to escort General Early to 
his room," I laughed, " and I call on you to witness 
that he leaves this door as sound and as whole as 
when he entered." 

"Here!" he said, "take this key and open my 
door, and put some water on the table." He was fol- 
lowing Susie down the hall as he spoke. " And if 
you have any sense, you'll put my bootjack out of 
reach, for you've been telling tales behind my back, 
you useless piece of lumber! " Suddenly he turned, 
and said to me : 

" Thank you, for your kindly hospitality! " 

11 A large word to express a mere cup of tea," I 
answered. 

" I have received more than a cup of tea. You fed 
me, you listened to me, and, by the Almighty, you 
gave me a pretty sharp lesson about the Northern 

women, but " He passed hat and stick to his left 

hand, straightened up, brought his heels together, 
and honoured me with a salute most soldierly, as he 
grimly added: "But I reckon I needed all I got. 
Good afternoon ! " And he marched downstairs. 

He left the city for a reunion before I did. As he 
gave his key into Susie's hand, he said: " If they put 
any damn' Northerner in my room, Susie, you kill 
him! Do you hear? P'izen him, and leave the con- 
sequences to me. I'll see you through, and pay the 
expenses of burying him beside, damn him! Good- 



252 THE LIFE OF A STAR 

bye ! Oh, I say — hold on a minute, Susie — if they put 
any Northerner in my room except that infernal little 
vixen upstairs, do 'em up ! But you can let her slide. 
Good-bye!" 

Thus did he modify his joke for my sake — this 
devoted, disappointed chip of the old Confederacy. 



XVI 
A HUNT FOR A PLAY 

I HAD been successfully starring for several 
seasons in the same plays I had started with, 
and feeling that the patience of my patrons 
deserved some reward, I determined to offer them a 
new play for their entertainment — a thing, alas, that 
was easier to decide upon than actually to do, for, in 
theatrical parlance, it was hard to " fit " me, to suit 
the public. Personally, I had always a marked pref- 
erence for even, well-balanced, good general work — 
the perfection of the whole cast giving me more pleas- 
ure than the most brilliant individual effort made in 
a star play, where the natural movement and action, 
the proper development of other characters are some- 
times sacrificed for the enlargement and the glorifica- 
tion of the star's part — a custom in practice up to 
the period of Monsieur Rostand's great vogue in 
America, when his " Cyrano de Bergerac " received 
a second production in New York, and to the stupe- 
faction of the literary and artistic world, many of the 
hero's noblest lines, his strongest speeches came from 
the lips of Cynthia. It was inartistic, absurd, but the 
lady was the star and the manager knew that the 
public expected much from a favourite; the part was 
not very prominent and he took drastic measures to 
make it so. 

You see, the public does not value general excel- 
253 



254 THE LIFE OF A STAR 

lence so highly as individual effort on the part of the 
man or woman who is their favourite star. Again, 
if there is the slightest touch of the peculiar, the 
unusual, about an actor or an actress — if one chances 
to be a brilliant fencer, or has an exceptionally gurg- 
ling, mellow laugh, or sheds real tears in harrowing 
situations — never, never will that unhappy star quite 
satisfy the public in a play that does not demand a 
fight, much laughter, or a flood of tears. All this I 
knew when I began looking for that new play on this 
side of the water, while any and every friend I had 
on the other side searched diligently through English 
and French haystacks for a dramatic needle suited 
to my use. But, alas, I was known as a strong actress, 
and also as a shedder of tears, and had mighty Will, 
himself, risen from the grave to offer me a play with- 
out tears then would the people have said: " Yes, it's 
very fine, but she does not make us cry. Give us the 
old plays, where we can surely weep for four out of 
five acts." 

At last I heard of "La Martyre," in Paris — a 
daughter's self-sacrifice to save a beloved mother, 
whose youthful sin is about to find her out. Ah ! that 
looked promisingly teary, but the Jezebels, the Coras, 
the Miss Muttons had made the public expect strong 
scenes. Were they forthcoming, I wondered? Finally 
learning that there was a shooting in my presence, a 
dismissal from home and child, and a piteous plea for 
permission to meet the daughter secretly at the grand- 
parents' home, I determined to risk all, and an- 
nounced that I would produce the play in San Fran- 



A HUNT FOR A PLAY 255 

cisco, calling it, at my manager's advice, " Renee de 
Moray " — the name of the heroine. 

I had my gowns made in New York and to my 
great regret had to proceed on my journey westward 
before the play's production in New York, where it 
was in preparation, with one of those amazingly fine 
casts that Mr. Palmer was noted for. Watching 
eagerly for its premiere, imagine my crushed stupe- 
faction when it failed. There was no mincing of mat- 
ters, no ifs or buts. Beautiful scenery, perfect cos- 
tuming, people specially engaged for some of the 
characters, careful rehearsing — all had gone for 
nothing ! 

The improbability of this play — which was great, 
be it admitted — alone impressed the audience. I was 
aghast ! What, I asked myself, could I do in the way 
of a production to compare with Mr. Palmer's effort? 
Then I began to hunt for the cause of the failure. 
I studied the story of the play carefully. The weak 
point was quickly found. Many a daughter would 
sacrifice herself to save a beloved mother (the mother 
remaining unconscious of the service), but when that 
daughter is happily married, is herself the proud 
mother of a girl-child; when the assuming of the 
elder woman's sin means the breaking up of home 
and the dishonouring of worshipped husband and 
child — why that is unnatural, if one stops to think. 
Ah! I repeated the words, " If one stops to think! " 
Probably that was what had killed the play. The 
actors were too calm, too collected — they gave the 
house time to think, to discover the improbability of 



256 THE LIFE OF A STAR 

a woman making such a martyr of herself. Only the 
headlong impetuosity of a sentimental and intensely 
affectionate temperament, an utter abandonment to 
her emotions, done with absolute sincerity, could 
sweep an audience on a great wave of sympathy high 
into that region where reason is for a time lost in 
excitement and emotion. Then I looked eagerly at 
the cast and saw that for Renee Mr. Palmer had 
engaged one of the finest high-comedy women on the 
stage, but who was noted for her coldness in emo- 
tional characters. My faith in the play began to 
revive. Still I offered to recall its announcement if 
the California management desired me to. The gist 
of their answer was " that I might withdraw the play 
if I was afraid of it." 

There they had stepped on the tail of my coat — 
pugilism was in the air at that time. I forgot my 
good manners and answered that I " never threw my 
hat into the ring unless I intended to follow it in per- 
son," an expression that brought joy to the hearts of 
the " powers that were," and they answered: " ' Renee 
de Moray ' announced for second week and we're 
betting on you." 

Thus, with that dreadful anxiety, that to be or not 
to be a success, ever in my mind and making of me a 
vraie martyre, I took Renee by the hand, and turning 
our backs upon Chicago we faced westward toward 
the Great Divide, the rolling prairies, the stultefying 
deserts, the irritating snow-sheds, the glorious Sierras 
and the downward swoop to the great City of the 
Coast, where hand-in-hand we would face our public 



A HUNT FOR A PLAY 257 

and try to stampede it into such a rush of sympathy 
that logic should be forgotten — until next day. 

Later on I made the trip to California in a private 
car, thereby enjoying all the privacy and most of the 
comforts of home life while travelling, but it cer- 
tainly was a bit monotonous compared to this jour- 
ney, which proved one of the liveliest on record. As 
I was just recovering from an attack of single-pneu- 
monia, my husband was anxious to establish me com- 
fortably in my stateroom before the starting of the 
train. Having done so, he and the maid had no 
sooner left me to attend to checking and some small 
last matters than a great hubbub arose at my very 
door. The conductor, with patient self-control, was 
receiving the hysterical attack of one of those 
wealthy, boastful American women whom I had been 
meeting for years in foreign novels, but had never, 
never encountered in real life before. She was the 
wife, she declared of Mr. Great-man, who was a 
millionaire more times than the conductor had fingers 
and thumbs. She had in her own right more money 
than he had ever dreamed of. She demanded that 
that stateroom be cleared out at once, that her maid 
might arrange it for occupancy ! Did he suppose that 
she was going to sleep in a section-berth like a com- 
mon person? She, who could pay three times the 
usual price, and by right of her position and her hus- 
band's power the room was hers! Where was his 
authority for favouring this nobody at the cost of her 
convenience? Higher and higher arose the nasal 
tones, angrily she repulsed someone who tried to 



258 THE LIFE OF A STAR 

calm her! Greatly distressed, I arose from the sofa 
and, opening the door, anxiously asked the conductor 
if I was unconsciously encroaching on another's 
rights ? 

" Not at all," he replied. " Your room was en- 
gaged more than forty-eight hours before this lady 
asked for it. She can secure staterooms clear through 
to 'Frisco by waiting until to-morrow," and very 
gently he pushed me back toward my pillowed nest 
on the sofa. And just then, as the excited lady 
stamped her foot and ordered me to withdraw at 
once, a messenger ran alongside the train calling! 
" Clara Morris! Is Clara Morris in this car? " 

" Oh ! " exclaimed Madam Millions, grasping the 
wrist of her companion, " oh, is she on board? How 
lovely! We must get a good look at her! " 

And then the conductor called out : " This way — 
here she is! " and handed the message to me. There 
came a sound like the sudden squawk of a startled 
hen, then a gasping cry : " Salts ! " One single in- 
halation followed, and in that instant of time she had 
shifted her position — had turned her coat. With 
quivering voice she commanded her companion to 
" follow that conductor, get his number and his name. 
I know he doesn't go clear through, but he shall be 
punished all the same, as he deserves to be, placing 
me in a false position, deceiving me into a seeming 
insult to one I admire and honour ! Oh, my husband 
will see that he suffers ! " She broke from her friends ; 
she pushed into my room to ask " if I ever knew of 
such malice as that man had shown — hiding my name 



A HUNT FOR A PLAY 259 

from her, and leading her on by false statements to 
make unkind suggestions of removal? But," she 
closed, " I am a very wealthy woman, Miss Morris, 
and he shall suffer for causing you such needless an- 
noyance. Let me cover you up — don't you want my 
salts? " etc., etc., and that was the beginning of the 
journey. 

Next, I was told that one of the star criminals of 
the great West — the unwilling guest of a too zealous 
sheriff — had been ushered into our car, causing a 
great flutter there; and I rose from my sofa and, 
drawing aside the door-curtain, stood swaying back 
and forth while I tried to peep at the wrongdoer who 
had been taken in the toils and was on his way now 
to an undoubted life sentence. But look as I would I 
could not find the prisoner. In one man I saw the 
ideal Western sheriff, but there was a fair-haired 
young chap beside him who would not fill the bill at 
all. At last I walked out to the end of the car, osten- 
sibly looking for my husband; on my way back I met 
the conductor and a little girl, and we stood chatting 
a moment. I was wearing a rather peculiar bracelet, 
formed as a horseshoe, the open space being filled 
with a horse's bit. The conductor declared it a per- 
fect design for a man's bracelet, at which the little 
girl was contemptuous over the idea of a man wear- 
ing such a thing. 

" Oh! " I laughed, " the first gentleman of Eng- 
land wears one ! " and then a clear, well-modulated 
voice beside me added: "Oh, yes, sissy, and Tum- 
Tum is not the only man to wear a bracelet by a long 



2 6o THE LIFE OF A STAR 

shot. Why, we wear them over here sometimes, only 
the devil of it is they are made double here ! " 

I glanced at the speaker. He was the fair-haired 
chap, and he wore the shameful bracelets of the crim- 
inal. There's something revolting in the sight of a 
manacled human being, and the surprise turned me 
very white, I know, for he leaned forward and said 
quickly: " I beg your pardon. I thought everybody 
knew." And I stammered stupidly, " Pardon me! " 
and hastened back to my room, thoroughly ashamed 
that I had yielded to such curiosity. 

The time passed slowly. The horse thief and forger 
outside was behaving well — no trouble at all — but he 
was bored to extinction, and so was everyone else for 
that matter, who could not play cards day and night 
both. As the afternoon was closing in the porter 
brought me a note from the sheriff, who wrote that 
his prisoner, never expecting to see the outside world 
after next week, never expecting to meet an inter- 
esting human being again, begged of my charity a 
little chat, asking it only in the name of the good 
woman he had called " Mother." The sheriff 
added," that * Doc ' (as he called him) , had behaved 
so mighty well since he had been nabbed for his 
funny business with a stage and a Wells-Fargo box, 
that he'd like to make things pleasant for him if he 
could, and the day was dull even for a free man." 

I consulted my husband. He asked: " Do you 
want to talk to the man? " 

I thought that a stage robber, horse thief and 
forger, who found the end of his tether fastened 



A HUNT FOR A PLAY 261 

securely to a prison door, might prove interesting; 
but if he objected, why 

" Oh, no! everyone to their taste," he laughed. 
" Go on and talk, but don't expect him to lower his 
mask for you." 

Directly then I dropped into the seat behind the 
sheriff and the fair-haired chap, who was so many 
kinds of a bad man. Many people had begged pillows 
from the porter and were napping. Two women were 
knitting. The engine seemed to be making up lost 
time, judging from the unusual speed. The prisoner 
was chatting away about the comfortable arrange- 
ments of the interior of one of the old waggons 
known as " prairie schooners " in the old days, and in 
his effort to face me he several times hurt his hand- 
cuffed wrist to the wincing point. At length the 
sheriff, glancing out at the flying landscape, laughed 
a little, and unlocking the bracelet from his own wrist, 
arose and said good-naturedly: "Take my place, 
Doc, and talk comfortably; I'll sit over here." 

We both stared at him in amazement, but as he 
sank into the seat opposite he pushed his coat out of 
the way and sat with his hand resting on his hip- 
pocket. He was not taking such chances after all. 

Doc's eyes and mine met, and in a flash each read 
the other's thought. He smiled and asked: " Did you 
ever catch a weazel asleep? " 

And I smiled back: " Not in a Pullman car." 

We told stories, he stroking my little dog's head. 
I told him some canine adventure, but he screwed up 
his face into a laughable sort of deprecation, saying: 



262 THE LIFE OF A STAR 

" He didn't bank much on dogs, since the hounds had 
run him down after his last job." I shivered. " What 
a sensitive woman you are," he said. " I should think 
your profession would tear you all to pieces. But 
you're right enough. It's an awful thing to be tracked 
by dogs, which have become a single sense personi- 
fied ; which take no heed of hunger, thirst, darkness, 
nor light; which, between heaven and hell, recognise 
just two things, the master's voice that says: ' Seek! 
Find! ' and the scent, that is your scent — the trail 
that you must either swim or fly to avoid leaving be- 
hind you." 

His breath came quickly, like a man's who had 
been running. Suddenly I leaned forward and touched 
the shameful thing upon his wrist: "Oh!" I ex- 
claimed, " why, why did you ever do it? " 

Again he twisted up his face : " Why? I guess," he 
answered, " it was because of too much and too hard 
religion from dad, and too much bad company right 
round the corner. Ministers always seem to think 
they are all heaven and their boys are all hell." 

11 But your mother? " I interrupted. 

" Mother was all right," he sharply answered. 
" She was fair to a fellow. She used to tell dad that 
when young blood danced and all the bones and 
muscles were growing, a boy just had to jump and 
rush and caper; that he couldn't walk slow and be 
solemn and silent, even on Lord's day. Oh; she was 
the best woman, she " He stopped short and in- 
stinctively tried to draw the steel bracelet up into his 
sleeve. 



A HUNT FOR A PLAY 263 

" Yet you're " I reproached. 

" Oh ! " he interrupted, " she died, you know, and 
then — well after you once begin you can't stop, be- 
cause, you see, you never begin alone ! There's always 
some chump who knows, and can betray you if you 
try to draw back." Then a sullen frown came on his 
face : " Prison for life ! " He looked off at the red- 
dening west : " No more sunrise or sunset — no ! no ! " 
he swallowed hard; then, almost violently, he con- 
tinued: " And do you know that there were fool men, 
back there at Omaha, who came to congratulate me 
— good God! to congratulate me that I was so sure 
to miss a death sentence ! I wonder if you can under- 
stand at all?" 

"Oh, yes; I knew a murderer once," I started, 
when he cried out, "What, you? You knew a mur- 
derer?" "Yes," I answered, "I used to play with 
the sheriff's little son about the jail corridors, and 
this man mangled himself horribly with a tiny pen- 
knife, in an effort, paradoxical as it sounds, to kill 
himself to prevent the executioner from doing it." 

A sort of flame sprang into his light blue eyes, of 
a sudden his lips pressed into a tense line. 

" Right ! " he sharply exclaimed. " Right, he was ! 
Why, you ought to understand that; and I believe 
you do, too ! It wasn't the mere dying that kept the 
fellow awake nights, for all stand to die sometime! 
And we — the boys who write too well for our own 
good, and toy with other people's horses, and are 
hunted quite as often as we hunt — expect to step up 
lively when we pass in our checks ! No, a man's not 



264 THE LIFE OF A STAR 

afraid to die, but; by thunder, you don't want to be 
trussed up like a fowl, and then have some measly 
fellow with dirty hands sling a rope around your 
neck and shove you through a trap to twirl in the air 

like a d d sheep-killing dog! You want to die 

like a man, not like a cur, and a chap feels some self- 
respect when he bosses his own job. If I had a 

chance " his eyes turned toward the figure of the 

sheriff, who sat, his left elbow on the window sill, the 
hand supporting his drooping head. Were his 
eyes closed? With stealthy swiftness Doc arose, 
to find the sheriff's face grimly smiling into his 
and the sheriff's revolver pointing straight at his 
heart. 

An instant they stood, then very quietly: " I 
wanted a drink," said the bad man. 

" Oh," responded the watchful one jocosely, " I 
thought perhaps you were going to call my attention 
to our lessening speed?" This with a malicious 
glance toward the free hands of the prisoner. " Well, 
I'll have the water brought to you." And under my 
breath I remarked: " It didn't work, did it? " 

" No," he answered, " not that time," and I be- 
lieve his captor had given him an idea, for from that 
moment he began to talk at random. He had been 
pale, but a spot of colour was soon burning upon his 
rather prominent cheek bones. Hitherto his had 
been the frank, open manner of the well-brought-up 
middle-class young Western 'man, now a subtle change 
was coming over him; his voice lowered, his pale 
eyes had a greenish glare in them, and they stole side 



A HUNT FOR A PLAY 265 

glances beneath narrow lids that quivered slightly. I 
began to see this man's relation to the great cat tribe 
stealthy, strong, flexible, cruel. He was passing his 
tongue over his parched lips, was speaking broken 
sentences, while his nostrils quivered and expanded. 
The man was laying some desperate plan. I was so 
sure that involuntarily I whispered to him: " Don't! 
don't do it!" 

He looked at me fixedly, then went on : " Yes, he 

was right, that murderous friend of yours " then 

suddenly he pressed his hand to his stomach and bent 
over. Mr. Sheriff was at his elbow instantly. " Too 
many railway doughnuts," groaned Doc. 

" Have a drop of this brandy," advised the 
friendly sheriff. 

" We are nearing the supper station," I remarked, 
" and I must go and prink a little." 

" Oh ! " said the suddenly sick man, " how like the 
old Iowa home those words sound, * to prink.' " 

I arose to go. The sheriff stooped to lock the 
prisoner's wrist to his own. At my stateroom door 
I turned my head. The prisoner's eyes were glaring 
greenly at me, and like lightning the forefinger of his 
free hand flashed to his lips, pleading, cautioning, 
warning — all were in that swift, secret gesture. 

I sank trembling onto the couch. I wanted no 
supper. " Ought I to speak?" I asked myself. But 
speak of what? What had I to tell? Only a change 
of manner, a single gesture. I wiped my forehead 
and started surprisedly. The scent of tobacco clung 
to the handkerchief I had picked up instead of my 




266 ** THE LIFE OF A STAR 

own. I dropped it with a nervous shiver, then sat 
and waited. 

Supper was over. People were settling for evening 
games or chats, for we were off again. Then I heard 
through the rear door of my stateroom the satisfied 
voice of the thief-taker. He was answering the ques- 
tions of one who had come aboard at the last station : 
" Yes, thank God, this was his last night of responsi- 
bility. He would have passed his man over to the 
prison officials this time to-morrow. No, he had never 
lost sight of his prisoner, even for a moment before, 
but he was a pretty sick man this evening, and he was 
therefore allowed the privilege of entering the wash- 
room alone; but," he added, " the speed of the train 
and the revolver at the door made that safe enough. 
Still — yes, he was staying rather a long time." And 
the sheriff knocked, calling: " Come Doc, if you 
feel seedy yet, better come and lie down." (Knock, 
knock.) " Oh, Doc!" a suddenly tried knob, and 
then between desperate kicks at the panels of the 
locked door the repeated cry: " An axe! an axe! " 

" T-that axe's only to be used in case of fire or 
accident, sir ! " stammered the porter, " but I can 
unlock " 

He never finished. The door burst open — the 
room was empty! A wild cry rang through the car. 
With a ghastly face the sheriff hurled himself at the 
bell-cord, jerking it like a madman to an accompani- 
ment of sulphurous oaths. The passengers were 
thrown into a turmoil. The train was stopped, was 
searched, then it was backed, and women began to 



A HUNT FOR A PLAY 267 

cry or to turn faint over mental pictures of what 
might be found out there. We stopped again and the 
confusion was transferred to the outside. Lanterns 
were bobbing in the darkness. Suddenly I heard a 
voice saying: "He's just bringing them up from 
Green River. They're right in the baggage-car, and 
he'll lay 'em on for you if you'd like." 

With oath-garnished gratitude the frantic sheriff 
accepted his offer, which meant bloodhounds, and 
next moment he was tearing into the car searching 
for something of Doc's that would give " a scent " 
to the two gaunt, long-eared brutes who were being 
led out for a man-hunt. With a gasp I caught up the 
handkerchief and thrust it deep, deep into the dress- 
ing-bag, and then sat immovable, watching, listen- 
ing, wondering ! The wires were hot with messages, 
men were hot with profane argument ; but ours was a 
fast-mail train, and on we went, leaving men on horse- 
back and men on foot, aided by melancholy, lop-eared 
hounds, and lighted by torches and lanterns, who 
searched either side the track for what might be left 
of the fair-haired bad man, who had preferred to 
" step up lively and pass in his checks " by way of a 
car-window and a flying leap to death, rather than 
moulder through the sunless years of a life imprison- 
ment ! And being sleepless all that night, I filled the 
hours with study of the second act of " Renee de 
Moray," and so it came to pass that ever after, in 
the shooting of Claude Burel, I saw not the face of 
the man who acted him but the glaring eye, the dilat- 
ing nostril and warning, pleading gesture of the man 




268 THE LIFE OF A STAR 

who had that night made himself part of the mighty 
mystery of the plains, the silent plains, that seem to 
be stricken dumb by the stupendous import of the 
message they may hold for man ! 

Wrapped in a gauze veil, the feathered, laced, and 
ribboned hat I had worn to the train hung safely 
out of the way, for my hurried platform walks at 
various stations I donned a small Scotch cap I had 
brought from Edinburgh for steamer comfort, the 
bonnet known to some as the Glengarry. Among the 
very closest of my friends there was a soldier who had 
gained an uncomfortable knowledge of Chief Joseph, 
that had been bought in the Nez Percez campaign. 
At my request he had given me the tarnished, 
battered regimental badge from the front of the old 
cap that had been soaked by rains and scorched by 
suns and often used as a dipper at the finding of 
precious water, that drop for drop was of greater 
value than molten rubies could have been, and I had 
pinned the crossed muskets and the regimental num- 
ber in the front of my own cap. Next morning after 
the escape I was tramping up and down the platform 
when two men passed, and one, glancing at me a 
second time, stopped suddenly, drew his heels to- 
gether and gave me a military salute. I smiled at his 
mistaking me for someone else and continued my 
exercise. So, coming again upon the men, both of 
whom were somewhat in liquor and working hard to 
pick a fight with the station loungers, when someone 
called out, " Let the lady pass ! " Both men turned 
and seeing me, straightened up, shoulder to shoulder, 



A HUNT FOR A PLAY 269 

eyes front, while with tipsy gravity they saluted with 
the sharp precision of mechanical toys. Then, indeed, 
was I angry, for no one living is more sensitive to 
ridicule than I am. I started off in search of my lord 
and master, but was met by the porter who, with the 
familiarity of his class, addressed me as Miss Cla'h 
and asked what was the matter. I told him and, hot 
with anger and swelling with importance, he proceeded 
to look into the matter while I returned to the car. 
In a few moments the darky was back crying: " Miss 
Cla'h, dey ain't no ornary, low-down fellows tryin' 
to plague you; dey's mighty proud, 'case you-all's 
come from de same State. Yes'm, dey's Ohio men, 
and — and dey sent you a message, Miss Cla'h, only 
I ain't goin' to give it to yer till I see your little 
cap." 

" My cap!" I cried, glancing toward it. He 
picked it up, looked at it a moment and broke into 
the contagious laughter of his race, saying: " I'se 
bound to give you that message now, for sure. Dey's 
Uncle Sam's boys, Miss Cla'h, an' dey say, very 
'spectful, dey like to give you de tip — dat if you 
don' want to be saluted by any soldiers you meet 
you mustn't wear de badge of de 21st Infantry on de 
front porch of your cap. For, you see, dey-all be- 
longs to de 2 1 st deyselves." 

And then apologies were in order, and they came 
from me. 

After that I devoted myself steadily to " Renee de 
Moray," and having a quick study was rough perfect 
when we found ourselves nearing the end of our long 



270 THE LIFE OF A STAR 

journey, and I said to myself: " In this last quiet lap 
of our run, with nothing more to upset my tired 
nerves, I can make myself unshakingly letter-perfect 
in my lines, and thus be free to devote all my thought 
to the directing of the coming rehearsals." Ah, that 
was a wise person who so earnestly advised against 
the practice of counting chickens before they were 
hatched. With jest and laughter, exchanging mutual 
congratulations upon its being the last station dinner 
we would have to reckon with, we were rising from 
the table when the inevitable practical joker, seeing a 
train moving in the opposite direction to our own, 
thrust his head into the dining-room and yelled : " All 
aboard ! Look lively ! Your train's moving ! " 

Those who noted the presence of our own train- 
crew at their corner table merely smiled, but, alas! 
one young girl sprang up. There was a startled cry, 
a crash of china, and then she was flying out of the 
door, across the open space straight toward the track 
and the moving cars. " Come back! stop!" cried 
many voices. The train-men leapt to their feet and 
dashed after her. The grey-haired conductor shouted : 
" Child! child! for God Almighty's sake, that's not 
your train." I heard one great, united, agonising 
shout of " Don't! don't " cut across by a shrill shriek 
that something stopped in mid-utterance, then silence 
fell. My husband's arm was about me, his shaken 
voice was saying quietly : " Turn the other way, 
Clara; we will just go back by that lower path," and 
sick at heart I realised he was trying to spare me the 
sight of something on the upper path. Two fainting 



A HUNT FOR A PLAY 271 

women were being carried back to our train. Then, 
as I knew he would do, the porter came to me, grey- 
looking and stammering, to tell one all he knew of 
the dreadful happening: "'For' God, Miss Cla'h," 
he said, " dat's de worst ting I've seen yet. Dat little 
red-cheeked girl, only sixteen years old, jist out from 
Ireland, poor and pretty, friendless and — and dere 
she lies, white as a stone image," he gulped hard a 
moment, " with one leg left for her to hobble on like 
a little hurt sparrow ! " 

" Oh, poor child ! poor little Irish lass ! crippled 
in a strange land! " I whispered tearfully. Dreadful 
details were given till I begged for mercy. Then he 
assured me she had been going out to service, and 
was alone in the world. They would take her to the 
hospital in 'Frisco now, " but Lord, Miss Cla'h, dey 
don't keep 'em dere long, and den what's to 'come of 
her? And even in de hospital it's hard to be without 
a cent!" 

" But," I asked, " has not that wealthy California 
lady offered to help her? " 

" No, mum, she hasn't! " he snapped angrily. 

"Perhaps she has not heard her story yet?" I 
suggested. 

" Yes, she has, too ! " he contradicted. " I heard de 
conductor telling her, and she said ' it was very sad, 
and such mishaps were trying to delicate nerves,' but 
she never offered a picayune for her help." 

I found in the almost empty maw of my pocket- 
book one lean, lonely five-dollar bill, but an idea came 
to me. I begged the porter to get me an envelope, 



272 THE LIFE OF A STAR 

and then scribbled on a card : " For one month I can 
be found at the Palace Hotel or at the Baldwin 
Theatre. A note from your doctor or nurse will con- 
mand any service in my power, any comfort or con- 
venience you may need, and pray have no hesitation 
in addressing one who sympathises with you from 
her heart.'' The bill and the card I slipped into the 
envelope and the porter promised to put it into the 
afflicted girl's hand. He came back directly to say 
that, drugged with opiates, she was unconscious, but 
he had pinned the envelope to the bosom of her gown. 

When I felt a little less shaken I tried once more 
to resume my study. Some hours had passed when, 
oh, good gracious! the wretched porter came to my 
room and, stammering and stuttering broken apolo- 
gies for " de mistake " and blaming " some fool fel- 
low that told him so anyhow," he gave me a letter. 
I read and I burned from my head to my feet. There 
was a five-dollar bill enclosed — not mine, as I saw at 
a glance, but still a bill for five dollars — and the 
note said: " My poor young niece was sent out to us 
to become our daughter, if she felt contented here, 
and I came a day's ride up the road to meet and 
welcome her, and I have found a maimed and, I 
greatly fear, a dying child. A mistaken story reached 
every ear, but no one heeded it but you. So long as 
we live we will keep that bill, and will preserve the 
generous promise you made to one you believed to be 
penniless and forlorn." And this was signed by a 
well-known and wealthy citizen of San Francisco. 

Oh, me! I must have had an expressive face for, 



A HUNT FOR A PLAY 273 

though I never spoke one word, as I glanced up at 
the porter he cried out: " W-why, w-why, Miss 
Cla'h, for de Lord's sake, w-why don't!" and in- 
continently fled. 

I heaved a great sigh of relief when, at last, I 
reached my rooms at the hotel, for heaven only knows 
what might have happened had the journey lasted a 
day longer ! 

And then began an almost killing week of acting 
by night, of rehearsing by day, with all the time that 
deadly, nauseating fear of failure. 

There is no body of American people who can 
enthuse with such utter abandon as a California 
crowd. They enjoy their own generosity; they are 
adepts in the delicate, delightful hypocrisy of the 
successful hostess. They will welcome you with such 
shining eyes, such becks and nods and radiantly 
wreathed smiles, that the " poor player " feels a sort 
of " Willie, we have missed you " atmosphere inclos- 
ing him ; and for the moment he will actually believe 
that these people have spoken of him in their homes, 
have looked forward to his coming, and his heart will 
be touched and grateful ; and they seeing that will be 
pleased that he is pleased. Thus they are atune, all 
keyed up to concert pitch, and, with half a play to 
work out, a great occasion may be expected. Do not 
think them lacking in the critical faculty. They are as 
sensitively alert to catch the author's meaning as the 
artist's expression. They have, too, a sturdy inde- 
pendence of judgment. A thousand nights run in the 
East will not induce them to accept a play that dis- 



274 THE LIFE OF A STAR 

pleases them. They decline to follow a leader, but 
they are warm, they are genial, they are emotional. 
And what is so contagious as enthusiasm? There is 
much foreign blood there, and its u bravas!" and 
" bravos ! " are frequent and add a peculiar note of 
triumph to a burst of applause. The California audi- 
ence when aroused enjoys its own excitement, and it 
is a joy indeed to act well enough to arouse it. 

At the last rehearsal I stood a woful moment and 
then burst out: " Oh, boys and girls! this won't do. 
You must not drag if you want me to succeed, and I 
know you do. You must rush the house. I don't mean 
you are to gabble your lines, but be sincere, intense, 
swift. You, Miss Wilton, have this adventuress to 
represent; it is a great part. Play it desperately, re- 
membering that if you win you are established for 
life amid sumptuous surroundings, in social security; 
if you fail, you face a house of correction, or the low- 
est slums known to ruined gamblers. Play it with des- 
perate determination. Here is a great opportunity. 
If you can take the play away from me, do it, only, 
for heaven's sake, never let down for a moment! 
We will try this act again." 

The night came, the house was packed. The first 
act, which was not any too brilliant in action, was 
laid out cold and dead by the hand of the electrician, 
who, in his desire to get an effect from the lighted 
city of Aix-les-Bains in the distance, kept the stage in 
semi-darkness. Oh, it was dreadful! One could not 
distinguish the colours of the costumes, to say nothing 
of the expression of the faces. I heard the leading 



A HUNT FOR A PLAY 275 

man growling off to someone : " This is a nice, large, 
wet blanket spread over us, isn't it? " And under all 
my gentle, pure-minded, self-sacrificing speeches 
seethed a burning desire to exterminate by the 
sword's edge the entire race of electricians. 

There was some courteous applause at the cur- 
tain's fall, but wild horses could not have dragged me 
before the curtain. Shaking with silent anger, sick 
with terror for the next act's fate, I waved people 
away and rushed to my distant room to change. As 
I was going out my maid, discreetly silent, offered a 
small cup of coffee. I drank it and with brief thanks 
went to meet my fate, for somehow I felt all hung 
upon the acceptance of that act. I had a curious, 
numb feeling, my brain seemed blank of every mem- 
ory or thought save the coming shooting. I wondered 
dully if that was madness. Then the act was on. I 
do not remember anything about it until, in hurling 
myself upon my husband, struggling to reach the 
revolver, a voice that did not seem to be mine in such 
piercing anguish cried: " For God's sake, you would 
not fire upon an unarmed man? " that a mortal terror 
seemed to possess, to shake me to and fro. The shot 
was fired, the charge of infidelity made! Then the 
physical horror of the dead brother lying there, that, 
to my imagination, bore the face of the fair-haired 
bad man of the train. The anguished dread of my 
mother being suspected, followed by the demand of 
the husband: " Confess — you loved him! " pointing 
at the victim of his rage. 

Suddenly I changed my answer, that should have 



276 THE LIFE OF A STAR 

been: " Yes, I loved him! " into the more subtle one 
with its double meaning : " Yes, he loved me ! " Then 
in a sort of mad defence of my mother's honour, my 
father's shame, my husband's rage, I repeated again 
and yet again the words : " He loved me ! the dead 
man loved me, yes ! " with the ever-rising cry of utter 
hysteria: "He loved me!" The curtain was fall- 
ing, but the shrieked-out self-accusation went madly 
on: " The dead man loved me!" until finally it was 
heard faintly through the fallen curtain. Then I 
caught up my skirts and staggered to my room, leav- 
ing the actors amazed by this unrehearsed outburst, 
standing in their places. 

Many times I laughed afterward over Dr. Camp- 
bell Shorb's telling of that night. I was under his 
care, and he came to my room to see if his aid was 
needed. He used to say: "I rushed around there 
from the front, with my eyes sticking out of my head 
far enough to hang your hat on, and that patient of 
mine came reeling up to me and laid a hand as cold 
as a dead frog into mine and, with great, scared, 
blank eyes staring out of a chalk-white face she 
gasps: ' What are they thinking out there, doctor? ' 
4 Thinking ? ' I replied, ' why, Good God, they're 
past thinking! They haven't any sense left. They 
are standing up howling like hungry wolves. And 
what in thunder are you doing here ? ' 

" Just then the call-boy and the prompter came 
butting up together, roaring out: * Miss Morris! 
Miss Morris ! Oh, please hurry, please ! ' and she 
turned and fled down the stage. I stood in the room 



A HUNT FOR A PLAY 277 

and I'm blest if it wasn't just like a madhouse, with 
the inmates extra bad. Roar, roar, then frantic howl ! 
Roar, roar, howl ! and I understood presently this 
meant her coming and going before the curtain. I 
tell you it was impressive even away up there. At 
last she came back, flushed, smiling, beaming. Now 
listen. At sight of me she gave a little start and 
said: ' Oh, good evening, doctor/ gave me a thin, 
hot hand, and added : ' Do you know, I believe the 
play will go, after all ! ' I'm blest if she even remem- 
bered having seen me before that night! She had 
been half mad with anxiety. By jove ! a woman earns 
all she gets in such nerve-racking work as that ! " 

He was right. I did not remember the first meet- 
ing. The play was a success. Failing in the East, it 
triumphed in San Francisco. We succeeded in stam- 
peding the audience. The papers pointed out, as in 
duty bound, the weak points in the story, but every 
soul who wept and reared up on end and roared ap- 
proval at our swift, tensely earnest presentation of 
it advertised the play and the players, and for years 
after, " Renee de Moray " was my " bunkie," or at 
least she was one of them. 



XVII 

SOME REMINISCENCES OF 
L. Q. C. LAMAR 

THE GREAT PACIFICATOR 

BUT just twice in my life have I felt a strong 
desire to meet, personally, one of the promi- 
nent public men known to me only through 
" information and belief." There was no Mrs. Leo 
Hunter in either case. I had no desire to hear those 
lions roar for the entertainment of envious guests 
crowded into my drawing-room. No, that was not it 
at all. I just wanted to see them with my own eyes, 
to hear them speak a few simple words, to be allowed 
to burn my joss-sticks and swing my incense before 
them in quiet sincerity. One of these two men I had 
the pleasure of meeting, and of knowing well, ere he 
.passed over to the great majority waiting in the 
House of Silence. 

Senator Lamar, the beloved of the South, the won- 
der of Washington, was rapidly becoming the orator- 
ical delight of the whole country. When it became 
known at the Capitol that Lamar was going to speak, 
the galleries filled, members of all parties from both 
Houses sought the floor of the Senate, and officials 
deserted their offices to crowd to the chamber and 
listen eagerly to the glowing eloquence of the man 
who was not afraid to grapple even with those colossi 
of debate, Blaine and Conkling. The great reading 

278 



L. Q. C. LAMAR 279 

public was on the alert for the reported speech, which, 
even in cold black and white, retained much of its 
grace and charm and colour. The speaker's dignity 
and courtesy, despite his keen, incisive and damaging 
arguments, contrasted beautifully with the roughness 
of some of his opponents. One felt that behind all 
the elegance of diction, the graceful flights of fancy, 
there was solid statesmanship; and many people be- 
lieved that Senator Lamar was truly and sincerely 
working for the reconciliation of the States, and so 
respected as well as admired him — and I was quite 
content as one of that body. 

Judge of my satisfaction when, my professional 
duties having taken me to Washington, my friend, 
Col. Donn Piatt, came hurriedly into my sitting-room 
one day to ask if I would receive at once Senator 
Lamar, whom he said he had met by chance in the 
office below, and who had astonished him by express- 
ing a wish for an introduction. Much pleased at my 
good fortune, I nevertheless asked jestingly: "But 
why astonished, Colonel? " 

" Why," he exclaimed, " do you know nothing, 
then, of the man's character, his peculiarities? Quiet, 
retiring, self-absorbed, he cut society long ago; and, 
while devoted to old friends, his shy, shrinking dis- 
like of meeting strangers grows upon him so that he 
is in a fair way to become a sort of hermit. He calls 
me friend, and treats me as one, but I assure you I 
never before heard him express a desire to meet a 
stranger, and — and if I don't make great haste he 
may change his mind, or forget all about the matter." 



2 8o THE LIFE OF A STAR 

" Gracious ! " I cried, ungratefully. " Why don't 
you hasten, then ! Don't stop to explain now, and so 
lose me my opportunity of meeting the silver-tongued 
one from the South ! " 

And, with the rueful comment: " There's a woman 
for you ! Asks a man a question, and then demands 
to know why he stops to answer it! " he laughingly 
descended officeward; and, while I exchanged the 
comb in my hair for an ivory one, which I thought 
looked well in the wavy brownness, and murmured 
regretfully for probably the ten-thousandth time: 
" Such a very common colour — brown," and drew 
the powder-puff lightly across my nose and chin, I 
saw for the last time the Lamar of my imagination — 
the lean, long, strong man, with the lion-like mane of 
silver-streaked, dark hair, the piercing eyes, the 
leathery brown skin and the chin-whisker and mous- 
tache so favoured by the middle-aged men of the 
South. One moment he existed, the next — there were 
approaching steps, an opening door, an introduction, 
and, good heavens ! — he was gone. At one touch of 
reality he disappeared into space and only a beautiful 
courtesy and an ugly chin-whisker remained to re- 
mind me of my imaginary Lamar. 

The real man's voice was low, and softer than that 
of any woman's I knew. He was of medium height 
and heavily-fleshed; his eyes were small, and — Oh, 
Mr. Lamar! How could you be so disappointing? — 
they were light-blue, and gentler than his voice. Then 
his short, broad figure was topped by a long, high- 
browed face, and — final and finishing touch of dif- 



L. Q. C. LAMAR 281 

ference — the leonine hair was really fine and soft, 
long and clinging, and worn, as I honestly believe, in 
a fashion favoured by no other man in America. 
Ohio's noble " old Roman " (Thurman) wore rather 
long hair, but the lobes of his ears were visible; while 
Mr. Lamar brought his hair down from the parting 
straight and smooth, a good inch below his ears, and 
then, as a sailor says " clubbed " it under, and in thus 
eliminating every sign of that most expressive fea- 
ture, the ear, he added greatly to the seeming length 
and narrowness of his face. He laughed more with 
his eyes than with throat and lips, and a crowd of 
impish little puckers gathered about them when his 
eyes began to twinkle, then smoothed themselves out 
again when he became serious. He was giving me a 
somewhat stately greeting, when I noticed the extra- 
ordinary fineness and smoothness of his clasping fin- 
gers, and glancing down, I exclaimed: " Mercy, Sena- 
tor, I do believe you have a lazier hand than even 
Colonel Piatt's!" Both men laughed guiltily; and 
Mr. Lamar turned his hand this way and that. " You 
find indolence here," he remarked; then, extending 
the left one, he smiled rather ruefully, asking: "And 
in this?" 

41 In that," I promptly added, " I find urbanity." 
And, with a chuckle, Colonel Piatt cried: "She's 
got you, Lamar! Indolence and urbanity — she's got 
you ! " 

Senator Lamar, assuming an attitude of exagger- 
ated sentimentality, responded, " It is the common 
fate — she has got us all ! " and dropped into the 



232 



THE LIFE OF A STAR 



room's easiest chair, which I had turned comfortably 
with its back to the light. I placed myself humbly on 
a lower seat, and we proceeded to make acquaint- 
ance. 

" Mr. Lamar," I said to him, one day, some time 
afterward, " don't you know that your Southern chin- 
whisker is very unbecoming to you ? Why don't you 
wear your moustache alone — that whisker adds so to 
the seeming length of your face? " 

" I know; an artist friend told me that long ago — 
but it's too late to change now; and say, shall I tell 
you how I came to wear the confounded thing at 
all?" 

" Oh, do! " I cried, and — heaven forgive him! — 
this is the tale that, with all gravity and seeming 
sincerity, he told me: 

" You see," he commenced, " the time came around 
when I felt I must enlist, and I resigned my profes- 
sorship in the university — where I believe I held the 
chair of ethics and metaphysics — and, cooperating 
with my friend, C. H. Mott, undertook to raise a reg- 
iment. Now, in the old home, the name of Lamar 
means something. The people down there have mem- 
ories, and my father and my gifted brother were not 
yet forgotten, and — well, you see, where a Lamar 
led, a lot of fellows were sure to follow, and I knew 
right well from the first they would never be satisfied 
till they had cocked me up as an officer of some sort 
over them; and, in spite of my knowing nothing on 
earth about the game of war, those boys, every one 
of them, would look to their old neighbour and 



L. O. C. LAMAR 283 

friend, Lamar, for example and guidance. Now, 
wasn't that a nice situation? " he asked forlornly. 

" Yes/' I replied, " I think it was. Their trust in 
you — their reliance upon your courage and wisdom 
— was touching; and you know very well now, Colo- 
nel, that down in your heart you were proud of it? n 

He shook his head. " No," he said, " not then. I 
was too mightily afraid I might prove a broken reed 
that would pierce those who leaned upon it for sup- 
port. Afterward, little woman, when I had learned 
what a battle meant, I — well, perhaps I was a bit vain 
of their trust in me then — because I had learned that 
I could trust myself. But just at first — my!" He 
wiped his brow as at a recollection. " How was I to 
know that my nerves might not betray me when I 
was under fire the first time? I said to myself, night 
and day : l Suppose, Lushe, you should be fright- 
ened?'" He leaned forward, and laid an impres- 
sive forefinger on my wrist. " Understand, there's no 
disgrace in a man being rattled once — say in his 
maiden battle. Every fellow has a legitimate right to 
one scare, but damn the man that scares twice ! The 
very bullets would avoid him. But I was not worried 
about the possibility of a second attack of — well, 
let's be frank and say — fear. No, thank the Lord I 
But what did keep me on the rack was this : Suppose 
we are ordered forward, and then we are halted long 
enough for our ardour to die out and for the horror 
of the action going on to get hold of our imagi- 
nation, and the boys get scared (according to their 
right), they will as one man turn to you, Lushe La- 




284 THE LIFE OF A STAR 

mar, expecting to see you calm as a May morning, to 
hear you say : ' Steady boys — we'll get our chance 

presently, and then we'll give 'em ' Eh ? you know 

the prescribed and correct ending of that sentence? 
And then, Great God of War ! suppose I should have 
my scare on at the same moment, and the boys saw 
it? Oh, Nineteenth Mississippi! Oh, boys and neigh- 
bours ! Have I not seen you run in many a game at 
home? I said, at last, to my tormented self: * I'll 
stay at home; I will recruit others; I will arm and 
equip them to the last dollar I possess, but I won't 
run the risk of shaking the confidence of my own men 
by momentary weakness.' For, you see, I knew in 
my soul that any funk of mine would only be a 
matter of moments. It was midnight, and I cried 
aloud : * If only I could hide that possible nervous 
tremor ! ' The word ' hide ' caught my attention. 
Suddenly I slipped out to the gallery, and, looking up 
at the stars, an idea came to me. I knew my face was 
not an expressive one. My eyes, I could control to 
steadiness any time. My voice was absolutely obedi- 
ent to my will. Just one feature I could not control 
when under excitement of any kind — my mouth. 
Anger, pain or fear would blanch my lips instantly, 
and I knew they quivered under great emotion, so it 
simply came to this : If I could somehow get a little 
apron or curtain over my mouth, I might go a-soldier- 
ing with the best of our people; and, like a thief in 
the night, I then and there stole into the sleeping- 
room of one who put his faith in bear's grease. For 
days and days the razor and the bear's grease of the 



L. Q, C. LAMAR 285 

unsuspecting friend filled my secret hours with scrap- 
ing and anointing — with wild hopes and desperate 
fears. Then, at last, the shadow darkened on my lip. 
One glorious day, my blessed little wife frowned at 
my kiss because my chin was rough and had scratched 
her cheek. The recruiting proceeded, the regiment 
was formed, and I became lieutenant-colonel, and — 
and " 

" And," I interrupted, " after your first battle, you 
were honourably mentioned by three different gen- 
erals — which throws a black cloud of suspicion on the 
truth of that story, Colonel? " 

But he kept perfectly serious as he asked : " Did 
you never hear of a brave man being frightened in a 
first action? " 

" Yes," I answered. " A mighty fighter on our 
side once told me that the sight of the wounded being 
carried off the field, as his regiment advanced, turned 
him sick with terror." 

" And yet," he smiled, " you won't believe in my 
reason for assuming this protecting beard of mine." 

Then, suddenly, we were at war about the senti- 
mentality of the Southern men over their women. I 
argued that it was exaggerated and sometimes absurd; 
that every women was proclaimed a famous belle and 
beauty. I caught up a paper. " Look here ! " I cried. 
" Is not this a commonplace face — without chic, 
without beauty, not even a wholesome prettiness? 
Yet here she is labelled * the lovely Miss Lulu Some- 
body, the belle of ' The town is so small that 

even you cannot locate it in Georgia. Your tourna- 



286 THE LIFE OF A STAR 

ments and jousts, while occasionally gotten up with 
skill and knowledge, are too often absurdities." 

" Yes, yes ! " he admitted, " but every man down 
there considers it a girl's right to be hailed as a Queen 
of Beauty. Women ought to be praised — over- 
praised, if you like. Every dry-goods clerk can pen 
a sonnet to his lady's eyebrow. The one may be as 
imperfect as the other, but both parties are pleased 
with the spirit of the thing. And now, tell me hon- 
estly, don't you think the men of the North are lack- 
ing in tender devoir? We don't stop at kissing finger- 
tips down there — one does not have to be a Pope in 
the South to have an adorer kneel and kiss a little 
slipper-toe or a riding-boot before slipping it into a 
stirrup. Would a Northern man do that? " 

" My very dear Mr. Lamar," I replied, " the dif- 
ference is not so great as you imagine. The man of 
the North hates pose. He cannot stand on the street 
bareheaded and blow kisses after a woman in a car- 
riage, as I have seen done in Atlanta's streets. Nor 
could he, before a grp^ip of spectators, kneel and 
kiss the riding-boot of his fairest fair; but his tender 
sentiment would probably move him, years after mar- 
riage, to kneel and remove the muddy boot, and chafe 
into warmth the chill little foot, and kiss it as he slips 
it into a bedroom slipper, for the sentiment of absolute 
devotion to his womankind is the hall-mark of the 
American man the world over." 

Mr. Lamar leaned over, and patting my hand, 
said: " God bless you, little woman; that picture of 
sentiment is worth a mint, yes, a mint! " 



L. Q. C. LAMAR 287 

The movement pushed from his knee a heavy, 
legal-looking book, while the bulging of his unbut- 
toned coat betrayed a paper-covered novel, crowded 
into an inner pocket. I covered my eyes, crying, " Oh, 
Senator! Oh, our poor country! What pabulum for 
the mind of a maker of laws ! " 

He took down my hands, and showed me the 
magic name of Dumas. " Oh ! " I exclaimed. " Is 
he not splendid? Was not his African blood worth 
rubies and diamonds to him? There was where that 
opulent and barbaric imagination came from." 

" See here ! " interrupted the Senator, sternly, 
" I'm mighty glad you are not a man and in the 
Senate, for I don't know how often you have stolen 
my thunder. That's been one of my pet ideas — about 
Dumas's teeming fancy being always vivid, always 
active. Story-reading is a rest and a refreshment to 
my mind just as the recess games are a refreshment 
to the boy-pupil's mind. The play is refreshing, too, 

only " He cuddled down more comfortably into 

his chair. " Only one can't epjoy that in one's slippers 
and friendly old gown." 

11 No," I said. " The actors hurry along so incon- 
siderately, and leave no margin for reveries or philo- 
sophical contemplation of the situation." 

He reached threateningly for a heavy ruler lying 
on the table, and I hastened to add: " Jesting aside, 
Mr. Lamar, do you know everyone says that you and 
General Garfield are the two bookiest men — the two 
most indefatigable readers in Washington?" 

He laughed a little. " Well," he said, " Garfield 



288 THE LIFE OF A STAR 

is always at it. I've known that man to startle a stage- 
ful of quiet people by a great laugh he had found in 
the book he was reading. Ah, he is a fine fellow ! " 

" Do you know who I think is our greatest public 
man to-day? " I asked. " The man to whom I refer 
is quick, impetuous, a hard hitter, and a fair fighter. 
Oh, I don't claim that he is an angel, mind you! — 
nor that he could keep his angelic robes absolutely 
spotless, if he had them — but to wisdom, courage and 
loyalty add this crowning charm: he is a polished 
gentleman. So, Senator, to my mind, the mightiest 
American we have to-day is " 

Mr. Lamar put his finger quickly upon my lips, 
and announced. "James G. Blaine? You are right," 
he said. " He is " (he separated the word into exact 
syllables) " mag-nif-i-cent ! Yes, mag-nif-i-cent ! " 

He sat there a moment silent, and then something 
of the man's big nature cropped out, something of his 
power of unselfish appreciation of an opponent's 
ability which, in that period of bitter animosities, 
seemed almost beautiful. 

" Mr. Blaine," he said, " is a great man, and 
sometimes he is misunderstood because of his very 
brilliancy and audacity; but people err who charge 
him with mere personal ambition. He is ambitious 
for the country; and, further, really to appreciate 
Mr. Blaine, instead of being a friend one needs to be 
his opponent in order to feel the weight of his blows, 
to taste the bitterness of his satire, to see his quickness 
and dexterity; and then, when all is over, when he 
has knocked you about and hammered your argu- 



L. Q. C. LAMAR 289 

ment or bill or amendment or what-not all out of 
shape, you chance to meet the man, the individual, 
and he gives you a straight, frank glance, a warm 
handgrasp, and says in a hearty voice : ' Are you go- 
ing down now? Let us foot it together, then; the 
walk will do us both good/ or * By Jove ! I'm hungry, 
after all that talk. Come on let us go somewhere and 
get a bite to eat/ and the warmth and geniality 
cheer you like wine, and the absence of personal ani- 
mosity makes you forget the two words — North and 
South ! You feel only that you are both Americans, 
and your heart thrills with respect and admiration 
for so generous a nature. Ah, as you say, ' it takes 
a mighty man to charm his enemies/ and James 
G. does it often ! " 

I had not said anything of the kind, but he had, 
which was more to the point and very illuminating, 
I thought. 

Mr. Lamar's dreaminess became a veritable Ori- 
ental languor at times. Yet who may say those long 
hours passed in seeming idleness were wasted hours ? 

" My mind is slow. It moves slowly," he often 
said. Now, as Henry Ward Beecher took keenest 
pleasure in watching the play of light and colour in 
unset gems, giving many an odd moment, here and 
there, to turning them on his palm, that he might 
catch their purest rays of colour, so did Mr. Lamar 
love to fondle an idea, to turn and twist it, to con- 
sider its weight, its possible value, under such and 
such circumstances. The main idea in the greatest 
speech of his life, he had had in his mind for years; 



2 9 o THE LIFE OF A STAR 

and if that last sentiment in his great Sumner eulogy 
was the result of much dreaming, one can only thank 
God for the creating of the dreamer ! 

And, yet — Oh, man of many surprises ! — later on, 
as Secretary of the Interior, he astonished his world 
by not only abandoning his own indolence, but by 
waking up a host of loitering employees and trans- 
forming them into active, earnest workers. Nor was 
his a case of " new broom." Nine o'clock each 
morning found the Secretary at his desk right along, 
for Oklahoma was requiring all the time he could 
give it. 

Ah, great is the power of singleness of purpose! 
This Lamar on one side was all sentiment, flowery 
speech, warm impulse; but run about him quick, and 
see on the other side — a Lamar, shrewd, cautious, 
far-sighted and alert. No matter which side he 
turned to you, the one great fine purpose of his life 
was to reconcile the North and the South — to win, not 
forgiveness so much as forgetfulness of the past. 
Poor, great man ! His work was cut out for him — 
with the flaunters of the bloody shirt on the one side 
and the sneering, carping Bourbons on the other. 
In every man's life there is the flood-mark of some 
supreme moment of power, high above the fullest 
tide of daily life. It remains indelible and unforget- 
able; and surely in the changeful, romantic life of 
this remarkable L.Q. C. Lamar there was no greater, 
no nobler, no more dramatic moment than that in 
which, to the disapproving incredulity of his friends 
and the public, he rose in the Senate to second the 



L. Q. C. LAMAR 291 

usual resolutions in that body and to make a memo- 
rial address upon Charles Sumner. Think of it! It 
brings a catch to the breath, even now, to recall that 
dread moment! In that whole crowded chamber 
there was probably not one person who did not 
mentally accuse him of incredibly bad taste — at the 
least. Lamar — ex-fire-eater, ex-secessionist — eulo- 
gising Sumner! There were disquieting fears on his 
own side for the outcome of the mad effort which 
they could only hope might prove but a perfunctory 
and formal tribute to the memory of their mortal 
enemy. The other side smiled grimly at one another 
in anticipation of the awful bump with which the 
speaker would land between the two stools of 
Northern and Southern sensibilities. 

The pale man, who rose so quietly on the left of 
the chamber, standing at the end of the aisle next 
the center, knew his waiting was over. He had found 
an opportunity at last, great enough to command 
the attention of his world, and he meant to seize it, 
boldly and bravely, while honouring the dead, and 
to make one mighty appeal to the old-time feeling 
of brotherly love. He saw that " conciliation " was 
absolutely indispensable to the welfare of his people ; 
he would try to unlock the hearts that were growing 
colder day by day, and perhaps mutual grief would 
soften them; perhaps tears would wash away the 
suspicion on one side and the morose resentment on 
the other. 

But, dear God, what a task! How was he to 
please one side without outraging the other? What 



292 THE LIFE OF A STAR 

sincerity, what exquisite tact, what perfect judgment, 
what fine discernment were required. No wonder he 
was white, no wonder his eyes burned almost black 
with suppressed excitement; for, when he faced his 
critical audience, he only possessed of his positive 
knowledge one single qualification for his task — sin- 
cerity. For, personally, he did regret Sumner's loss; 
and that sincerity was in his grave and quiet voice, 
when he began : " Mr. Speaker, in rising to second 
the resolutions just offered, I desire to add a few 
remarks which have occurred to me as appropriate 

to the occasion " and then the wonderful address 

went on. 

The splendour of the dead man's intellect, the high 
morality and the purity of his life were dwelt upon, 
and his passionate belief in freedom as the natural 
right of every intelligent being having the outward 
form of man. Oh, what delicate ground the speaker 
was treading on ! Listen to these words anent the 
slavery question: "In this fiery zeal, this earnest 
warfare against the wrong (slavery) as he saw it, 
there entered no enduring personal animosity toward 
the men whose lot it was to be born into the system 
which he denounced ! " 

With thrilling voice the speaker recalled the 
kindness and sympathy which Mr. Sumner had dis- 
played toward the impoverished and suffering people 
of the Southern States. " Thus," Mr. Lamar de- 
clared, with tender triumph, " thus unveiling to our 
gaze the generous, warm heart within the zealot's 
bosom." Tears were stealing down bearded cheeks, 



L. Q. C. LAMAR 293 

but as he went on to recall that knightly act of 
courtesy to a conquered people — when Mr. Sumner, 
whom he called " the first pacificator," offered his 
amazing resolution, " That the names of battles with 
fellow citizens shall not be contained in the army 
register or placed on the regimental colours of the 
United States," — more than one head fell low upon 
a heaving breast. Then, approaching gradually but 
surely to the real object of his speech, he told how, 
when he first came to Washington, his impulse had 
been to go to Mr. Sumner, offer his hand with his 
heart in it and thank him from his soul, but a re- 
straint was upon him. He thought other days would 
come when the act would be less liable to miscon- 
struction. " To-morrow — to-morrow, perhaps — and 
lo! a day had come when there was no to-morrow 
for that purpose. How many others were doing a 
like thing? Charles Sumner believed all cause of 
distrust and strife between North and South had 
passed away. Are there not many of us who believe 
the same thing?" And then, indeed, the reason of 
his address became evident in the tender, touching, 
passionate appeal for " complete reconciliation," and 
so closed with the heart-thrilling words : " Would 
that the spirit of the illustrious dead, whom we 
lament to-day, could speak from the grave to both 
parties in this deplorable discord, in tones which 
should reach each and every heart throughout this 
broad territory : ' My countrymen, know one an- 
other, and you will love one another ! ,n 

A moment's silence — then the chamber and the 



294 THE LIFE OF A STAR 

galleries, Democrats and Republicans, diplomats and 
nobodies, burst into applause which the Speaker did 
not check. L. Q. C. Lamar had had his foot in the 
stirrup, but he was in the saddle now, and he rode 
as the Great Pacificator! 



XVIII 
LOOKING BACKWARD 



WHEN the late Mr. Augustin Daly be- 
stowed even a modicum of his confi- 
dence, his friendship, upon a man or 
woman, the person so honoured found the circulation 
of his blood well maintained by the frequent and 
generally unexpected demands for his presence, his 
unwavering attention and sympathetic comprehen- 
sion. As with the royal invitation that is a command, 
only death positive or threatening could excuse non- 
attendance, and though his friendship was in truth 
a liberal education, the position of even the humblest 
confidant was no sinecure, for the plans he loved 
to describe and discuss were not confined to that day 
and season, but, were long, daring looks ahead, great 
coups for the distant, unborn years. 

The season had closed on Saturday. Monday I 
was to sail for England, and early that morning the 
housemaid watched for the carriage. My landlady 
was growing quivery about the chin, because I had 
to cross alone to join Mr. and Mrs. James Lewis, 
who had gone ahead. My mother was gay with a 
sort of crippled hilarity that deceived no one, as she 
prepared to go with me to say good-bye at the dock, 
while little Ned, the son of the house, proudly gath- 

295 



296 THE LIFE OF A STAR 

ered together rug, umbrella, hand-bag, books, etc., 
ready to go down with us and escort my mother back 
home — when a cab whirled to the door and stopped. 

" Good heavens ! " I cried, " what a blunder. I 
ordered a carriage; we can't all crowd into that 
thing!" 

Then a boy was before me, holding out one of 
those familiar, summoning half-sheets, with a line or 
two of the jetty-black, impishly-tiny, Daly scrawls — 
and I read : 

" Must see you one minute at office. Cabby will race you 
down. Have your carriage follow and pick you up here. 
Don't fail! A. Daly." 

Ah, well ! A. Daly — he who must be obeyed had 
me in good training. I flung one hand to the mistress, 
the other to the maid in farewell, pitched headlong 
into the cab, and went whirling down Sixth Avenue 
and across to the theatre stage-door, then upstairs 
to the morsel of space called by courtesy the private 
office. 

Mr. Daly nonchalantly held out his hand, looked 
me over and said: "That's a very pretty dress — 
becoming, too — but is it not too easily soiled? Salt 
water you know is " 

" Oh," I broke in, " it's for general street wear — 
my travelling will be done in nightdress, I fancy." 

" Ah, bad sailor, eh? " he asked, as I stood trem- 
bling with impatience. 

" The worst! But you did not send for me to talk 
dress or about my sailing qualities? " 



LOOKING BACKWARD 297 

" My dear," he said suavely, " your temper is 
positively rabid." Then he glanced at the clock on 
his desk and his manner changed. He said swiftly 
and curtly: "Miss Morris, I want you to go to 
every theatre in London, and " 

" But I can't! " I interrupted, " I have not money 
enough for that ! " 

"Money!" he snapped. " You will receive the 
courtesy of all the theatres. Present your name." 

11 But my name is not known over there ! " 

" Indeed! " he exclaimed angrily, " do you think 
the leading actress of the City of New York is a 
nonentity abroad?" 

I grinned maliciously as I replied: "Well, Mr. 
Daly, as you have yourself this moment made the 
discovery of my exalted position, you can't blame 
London for its ignorance of my existence." 

He frowned and waved his hand impatiently. 
" Use my name, then, or ask courtesy from E. A. 
Sothern. He crosses with you and you know him. 
But mind, go to every reputable theatre, and (im- 
pressively) report to me at once if you see any lead- 
ing man with exceptional ability of any kind." 

I gasped. It seemed to me I heard the leaden fall 
of my heart. " But, Mr. Daly, what a responsibility! 
How on earth could I judge an actor for you? " 

He held up an imperative hand. " You think 
more after my own manner than any other person I 
know of. You are sensitive, responsive, quick to 
acknowledge another's ability, and so are fitted to 
study London's leading men for me ! " 



298 THE LIFE OF A STAR 

I was aghast, frightened to the point of approach- 
ing tears ! Suddenly I bethought me. " I'll tell Mr. 
Lewis. He is there already, you know, and let him 
judge for you." 

"Lewis? Good Lord! He has no independence! 
He'd see in an actor just what he thought I wanted 
him to see ! I tell you, I want you to sort over Lon- 
don's leading men, and, if you see anything excep- 
tional, secure name and theatre and report to me. 
Heaven knows, two long years have not only taught 
me that you have opinions, but the courage of 
them!" 

Racing steps came up the stairs, and little Ned's 
voice called: "Miss Clara! Miss Clara! We are 
here!" 

I turned to Mr. Daly and said mournfully: " You 
have ruined the pleasure of my trip." 

" Miss Morris, that's the first untruth you ever 

told me. Here, please " and he handed me a 

package of new books. 

" Thanks ! " I cried, and then flew down the stairs. 
Glancing up, I saw him looking earnestly after me. 
" Did you speak? " I asked hurriedly. 

" That gown fits well — don't spoil it with sea- 
water! " 

And half-laughing, half-vexed, but wholly fright- 
ened at the charge laid upon me, I sprang into the 
carriage, to hold hands with mother all the way down 
to the crowded dock. 

One day I received in London this note from Mr. 
Augustin Daly: 



LOOKING BACKWARD 299 

"My Dear Miss Morris: — I find no letter here — im- 
patiently, " A. D." 

And straightway I answered: 

11 My Dear Mr. Daly : — I find no actor here — afflictedly, 

" C. M." 

And lo, on my very last night in London, after 
our return from Paris, I found the exceptional lead- 
ing man. 

Ten days later, on a hot September morning, I 
was hurling myself upon my mother in all the joy of 
home-coming, when I saw leaning against the clock on 
the mantel the unmistakable envelope, bearing the 
impious black scribble that generally meant a sum- 
mons. I opened it and read: 

" Cleaners in full possession here — look out for soap and 
pails, and report directly at box-office — don't fail ! A. Daly/' 

I confess I was angry, for I was so tired and the 
motion of the steamer was still with me, and besides 
my own small affairs were of more interest to me 
just then than the greater ones of the manager. How- 
ever, my two years of training held good. In an 
hour I was picking my way across wet floors among 
mops and pails toward the sanity and dry comfort of 
Mr. Daly's office. He held my hands closely for a 
moment, then broke out complainingly : " You Ve be- 
haved nicely, haven't you? Not a single line sent to 
tell what you were seeing, doing, thinking? " 

" I beg your pardon — I distinctly remember send- 
ing you a line." He scowled blackly. I went on: "I 



3 oo THE LIFE OF A STAR 

thought your note to me was meant as a model, so I 
copied it carefully." 

Formerly this sort of thing had kept us at daggers 
drawn, but now he only laughed, and shaking his 
hand impatiently to and fro, said: " Stop it! oh, stop 
it ! So you could not find even one leading man worth 
while, 'eh?" 

"Yes— just one!" 

" Then why on earth didn't you write me? " 

" Couldn't — I only found him on our last night in 
London." 

Mr. Daly's face was alight in a moment. He 
caught up a scrap of paper and a pencil and, after 
the manner of the inexperienced interviewer, began : 
"What's he like?" 

" Tall, flat-backed, square-shouldered, free-mov- 
ing, and wears a long dress-coat — that shibboleth of 
a gentleman — as if that had been his custom ever 
since he left his mother's knee." 

Mr. Daly ejaculated " good! " at each clause, and 
scribbled his impish small scribble on the bit of paper 
which rested on his palm. 

"What did he do?" he asked eagerly. 

" He didn't do," I answered lucidly. 

11 What do you mean, Miss Morris? " 

" What I say, Mr. Daly." 

" But if the man doesn't do anything, what is there 
remarkable about him ? " 

" Why, just that. It was what he didn't do that 
produced the effect." 

"A-a-ah," said Mr. Daly, with long-drawn satis- 



LOOKING BACKWARD 301 

faction, scribbling rapidly. " I understand, and you 
thought Miss, that you could not judge an actor for 
me! What was the play? " 

" Bulwer's l Money, 1 and Marie Wilton was su- 
perb as " 

" Never mind Marie Wilton," he interrupted im- 
patiently, writing, " but Alfred Evelyn is such an 
awful prig." 

"Isn't he?" I acquiesced, "but this actor made 
him human. You see, Mr. Daly, most Evelyns are 
like a bottle of gas-charged water: forcibly restrained 
for a time, then there's a pop and a bang, and in wild 
freedom the water is foaming thinly over everything 
in sight. This man didn't kowtow in the early acts, 
but was curt, cold, showing signs of rebellion more 
than once, and in the big scene, well " 

"Yes?" asked Mr. Daly eagerly. 

" Well, that was where he didn't do. He didn't 
bang or rave or work himself up to a wild burst 
of tears!" ("Thank God!" murmured Mr. Daly 
and scribbled fast.) " He told the story of his past, 
sometimes rapidly, sometimes making a short, abso- 
lute pause. When he reached the part referring to his 
dead mother, his voice fell two tones, his words grew 
slower, more difficult, and finally stopped. He left 
some of his lines out entirely — actually forcing the 
people to do his work in picturing for themselves his 
sorrow and his loss — while he sat staring helplessly 
at the floor, his closed fingers slowly tightening, try- 
ing vainly to moisten his dry lips. And when the un- 
consciously sniffling audience broke suddenly into ap- 



3 o2 THE LIFE OF A STAR 

plause, he swiftly turned his head aside, and with the 
knuckle of his forefinger brushed away two tears. 
Ah, but that knuckle was clever! His finger-tips 
would have been girly-girly or actory, but the knuckle 
was the movement of a man, who still retained some- 
thing of his boyhood about him." 

Mr. Daly's grey, dark-lashed eyes were almost 
black with pleased excitement as he asked: "What's 
his name? " 

" Coghlan — Charles Coghlan. " 

"Why, he's Irish?" 

" So are you — Irish-American," I answered de- 
fensively, pretending to misunderstand him. 

" Well, you ought to be Irish yourself ! " he said 
sternly. 

" I did my best," I answered modestly. " I was 
born on St. Patrick's Day ! " 

" In the mornin' ? " he asked 

" The very top of it, sor! " 

" More power to you then ! " at which we both 
laughed, and I rose to go. 

As I picked up my sunshade, I remarked casually : 
" Ah, but I was glad to have seen, for once at least, 
England's great actor." 

"This Coghlan?" 

" Good gracious, no ! " 

" What, there is another, and you have not men- 
tioned him — after my asking you to report any ex- 
ceptional actor you saw? " 

" I beg your pardon, sir. You asked me to report 
every exceptional leading man. This actor's leading 



LOOKING BACKWARD 303 

man's days are past. He is a star by the grace of 
God's great gifts to him, and his own work." 

" Well ! " snapped Mr. Daly, " even a star will 
play where money enough is offered him, will he 
not?" 

" There's a legend to that effect, I believe." 

" Will you favour me, Miss Morris, with this 
actor's name? " 

" Certainly. He is billed as Mr. Henry Irving." 

Mr. Daly looked up from his scribbling. " Irving? 
Irving? Is not he the actor that old man Bateman 
secured as support for his daughters? " 

" Yes, that was the old gentleman's mistaken be- 
lief; but the public thought differently, and laboured 
with Papa Bateman till it convinced him that his 
daughters were by way of supporting Mr. Irving." 

A grim smile came upon the managerial lips as he 
asked, " What does he look like? " 

" Well, as a general thing, I think he will look 
wonderfully like the character he is playing. Oh, 
don't frown so ! He — well he is not beautiful, neither 
can I imagine him a pantaloon actor, but his face will 
adapt itself splendidly to any strong character make- 
up, whether noble or villainous." Mr. Daly was 
looking pleased again. I went on : " He aspires, I 
hear to Shakespeare, but there is one thing of which 
I am sure. He is the mightiest man in melodrama 
to-day!" 

" How long did it take to convince you of that, 
Miss Morris? One act — two — the whole five acts? " 

" His first five minutes on the stage, sir. His busi- 



3 04 THE LIFE OF A STAR 

ness wins applause without the aid of words, and you 
know what that means." 

Again that elongated " A-a-ah ! " Then, " Tell 
me of that five minutes," and he thrust a chair toward 
me. 

" Oh," I cried, despairingly, " that will take so 
long, and will only bore you." 

" Understand, please, nothing under Heaven that 
is connected with the stage can ever bore me." 
Which statement was unalloyed truth. 

" But indeed," I feebly insisted, only to be brought 
up short with the words, " Kindly allow me to judge 
for myself." 

To which I beamingly made answer: " Did I not 
beg you to do that months ago? " But he was grow- 
ing vexed, and curtly commanded : " I want those 
first five minutes — what he did, and how he did it, 
and what the effect was, and then " (speaking dream- 
ily) " I shall know — I shall know." 

Now at Mr. Daly's last long-drawn-out " A-a-ah," 
anent Mr. Irving's winning applause without words, 
I believed an idea, new and novel, had sprung into 
his mind, while his present rapt manner would tell 
anyone familiar with his ways that the idea was 
rapidly becoming a plan. I was wondering what it 
could be, when a sharp "Well?" startled me into 
swift and beautiful obedience. 

" You see, Mr. Daly, I knew absolutely nothing 
of the story of the play that night. ' The Bells ' were, 
I supposed, church-bells. In the first act the people 
were rustic — the season winter — snow flying in every 



LOOKING BACKWARD 305 

time the door opened. The absent husband and father 
was spoken of by mother and daughter, lover and 
neighbour. Then there were sleigh bells heard, whose 
jingle stopped suddenly. The door opened — Mat- 
thias entered and for the first time winter was made 
truly manifest to us, and one drew himself together 
instinctively, for the tall, gaunt man at the door was 
cold — chilled, just to the very marrow of his bones. 
Then, after general greetings had been exchanged, he 
seated himself in a chair directly in the centre of the 
stage, a mere trifle in advance of others in the scene, 
and proceeded to remove his long leggings. He drew 
a great coloured handkerchief and brushed away 
some clinging snow; then leaning forward, with 
slightly tremulous fingers, he began to unfasten a top 
buckle. Suddenly the trembling ceased, the fingers 
clenched hard upon the buckle, the whole body be- 
came still, then rigid — it seemed not to breathe! 
The one sign of life in the man was the agonisingly 
strained sense of hearing! His tortured eyes saw 
nothing. Utterly without speech, without feeling he 
listened — breathlessly listened! A cold chill, crept 
stealthily about the roots of my hair. I clenched my 
hands hard and whispered to myself : * Will it come, 
good God, will it come, the thing he listens for? ' 
When with a wild bound, as if every nerve and muscle 
had been rent by an electric shock, he was upon his 
feet; and I was answered even before that suffocating 
cry of terror — ' The bells ! the bells ! ' — and under 
cover of the applause that followed I said : ' Haunted ! 
Innocent or guilty, this man is haunted ! ' And Mr. 



306 THE LIFE OF A STAR 

Daly, I bowed my head to a great actor, for though 
fine things followed, you know the old saying, that 
* no chain is stronger than its weakest link/ well I 
always feel that no actor is greater than his care- 
fullest bit of detail." 

Mr. Daly's pale face had acquired a faint flush of 
colour: " Thank you! " he said, with real cordiality, 
and I was delighted to have pleased him, and also to 
see the end of my troubles, and once more took up 
the sunshade. 

" I think an actor like that could win any public, 
don't you?" 

" I don't know," I lightly answered. " He is 
generally regarded as an acquired taste." 

" What do you mean? " came the sharp return. 

" Why, you must have heard that Mr. Irving's 
eccentricities are not to be counted upon the fingers of 
both hands?" 

Mr. Daly lifted his brows and smiled a contented 
smile: " Indeed? And pray, what are these peculiar- 
ities?" 

" Oh, some are of the figure, some of movement, 
and some of delivery. A lady told me over there that 
he could walk like each and every animal of a Noah's 
ark; and people lay wagers as to whether London 
will force him to abandon his elocutionary freaks, or 
he will force London to accept them. I am inclined 
to back Mr. Irving, myself." 

" What! What's that you say? That this fine actor 
you have described has a marked peculiarity of de- 
livery — of speech? " 



LOOKING BACKWARD 



307 



"Marked peculiarities? Why, they are murder- 
ous! His strange inflections, his many mannerisms 
are very trying at first, but he conquers before n 

A cry stopped me — a cry of utter disappointment 
and anger! Mr. Daly stood staring at his notes a 

moment, then he exclaimed violently: " D n! 

d n!! oh, d n!!!" and savagely tore his 

scribbled-on paper into bits and flung them on the 
floor. 

Startled at his vexation, convulsed with suppressed 
laughter at the infantile quality of his profanity, I 
ventured, in a shaking voice, " I think I'd better 
go?" 

" I think you had! " he agreed curtly; but as I 
reached the door he said in his most managerial tone: 
" Miss Morris, it would be better for you to begin 
with people's faults next time " 

But with the door already open I made bold to 
reply : " Excuse me, Mr. Daly, but there isn't going 
to be any next time for me! " 

And I turned and fled, wondering all the way 
home, as I have often wondered since, what was the 
plan that went so utterly aglae that day? Mr. Cogh- 
lan he engaged after failing in his first effort, but that 
other, greater plan; what was it? 



XIX 
ALESSANDRO SALVINI 

CAN any one of us to-day name a young man 
who can enter a room, pay a woman his 
homage kneeling, then recover his upright 
position and join in the general conversation, without 
provoking a smile of derision, without arousing that 
sick pang of mortification one feels at seeing a friend 
make a fool of himself? No! To the lover alone is 
the kneeling position permissible to-day, and even he 
is exposed to the danger of ridicule in his rising, if 
he scrambles or lays hold of furniture, or — poor 
wight ! — if he drag at his fair one's draperies for 
assistance. Yet, it was on his knee that young Ales- 
sandro Salvini first presented himself before me. In 
a burst of extravagant admiration he had solemnly 
assured my husband that it was absolutely necessary 
for his peace of mind that he should see me and 
offer his homage in person. Amused by the lad's 
enthusiasm Mr. Harriott brought him to me, and 
straightway he crossed the room, knelt, and, gravely 
lifting my hand to his lips, said with glowing eyes 
upraised: " Madame, so my father would do, were 
he here to see that * death.' You have given the 
stage a companion piece to the * death ' in * Morte 
Civile.' " 

I fairly gasped at the daring presumption of the 
308 



ALESSANDRO SALVINI 309 

compliment. "Don't!" I cried; " only think one 
moment of the difference." 

" The difference is, madame, just the difference 
between intaglio and cameo — both the scenes are 
gems, perfect and without flaw. I adore cameos, 
madam ! " 

"And I," I laughed, "worship intaglios!" And 
he was standing at my side and we were all discussing 
the art of gem cutting, and not a soul of us had 
smiled at the lad's action, so simple and natural had 
it seemed. 

I suppose it was the influence of his Italian blood, 
of his actor ancestry, but always there was that touch 
of the romantic about him, while a certain grave, 
almost sombre air gave him a dignity surprising in 
one so young. At that first meeting, in speaking the 
words, " so my father would do, were he here," he 
sounded the key-note to his own character. His 
father's name was the open sesame to Alessandro's 
mind and heart, and the term " my father " was his 
shibboleth, while the standard by which he measured 
acting, honour, judgment, taste, and the general con- 
duct of a gentleman, was also that idolised father, 
Tommaso Salvini. 

When I first met him he had already developed a 
passionate longing to go upon the stage. He had 
been to Mr. Palmer, who had not encouraged him, 
principally because he knew Signor Salvini had other 
plans for his son, and partly because his English was 
still defective; and, thinking to get rid of his im- 
portunities at one fell blow, Mr. Palmer said to him 



310 THE LIFE OF A STAR 

one day: "Well, come in next week and recite for 
me Hamlet's soliloquy in English, and then we'll 
talk things over." 

" Thank you," briefly responded the lad and re- 
tired, and Mr. Palmer, with a sigh of relief, went 
home feeling he had washed his hands of that affair. 
But, alas ! a few days later he was informed that 
young Salvini awaited him in the lobby. He was 
vexed, but, being a man of his word, he straightway 
seated himself in the middle of the parquet while 
Alessandro, with set square jaw and knit brows, 
clambered up on the stage and slowly and carefully 
declaimed " To be or not to be." Of course it was 
parrot-like and soulless, so far as acting was con- 
cerned, but it was a revelation of the boy's determi- 
nation and of his really remarkable quickness in ac- 
quiring English. 

When he came to visit me, I soon discovered he 
was profoundly miserable about something, and 
presently he confided his trouble to me, and in a 
passionate outburst of sorrow and indignation he 
cried: "If only my father would speak one little 
word for me, every stage-door would fly open like 
magic; but no! but no! Ah, you see, Madame Clara, 
he is so great! My father he is afraid my efforts 
might injure him — but, surely, he is too secure for 
that. His father was an actor before him and es- 
teemed great, but he did not break his son's heart 
by denying him the privilege to follow his bent and 
act. If I could only get a start — then I know my 
father would accept the situation and give me his 



ALESSANDRO SALVINI 311 

blessing too, but " — his eyes filled, he dropped his 
head on the back of the chair he sat sidewise in — 
11 but no one will give me a chance — no one at 
all!" 

He was utterly disheartened, but in that outburst 
I had seen the potential actor, and, laying my hand 
on his thick up-curling black hair, I said: " My lad, 
I will give you a chance — for no man born to the 
name of Salvini can help acting! " 

If the portals of heaven had opened before him, 

I do not believe his face would have been more 
radiant. " You must wait a little," I said, " until I 
can see your chance — but I'll find it, never fear," 
and then he paralysed me by joyously crying: 
" Wait ! oh, madame ! will I not wait till the hell 
freeze over! " Then, at sight of my face, he hurried 
on: " Have I not got it right, then? You say it! " 
that being his constant request to people about him : 
" You say it! " But I declined on the grounds of 
propriety, and then, with a black frown, Salvini re- 
marked he would pull one man's nose who taught 
him that. 

No wonder he learned English quickly, for he 
was ever on the alert — no strange word escaped him, 
no unusual term. He would say it over and over till 
he met a friend, and then demand its meaning. One 
day he came to me with a very troubled face. 

II Madame," he said, " please tell me why shall a 
man, like me, like any man, be a 'blue-nose'?" 

"A what?" I asked. 

" A ' blue-nose.' " So he was called in the restau- 



312 THE LIFE OF A STAR 

rant, but he seemed not offended about it. " I have 
looked in my books; I can't find any disease of that 



name." 



With ill-suppressed laughter I asked : " Do you 
know Nova Scotia and Newfoundland?" 

" I hear the laugh in your voice," he said, then 
added: "Yes, I know both these places." 

" They are very cold and foggy and wet," I ex- 
plained. 

But with brightening eyes he caught up the sen- 
tence and continued : " And the people have blue 
noses, eh? Ha! ha! Excuse me, then, but is a 
1 milk-sop ' a man from some State or some county 
too?" 

It was hardly possible to meet him without having 
a word or a term offered thus for explanation. 

Mr. Palmer thought me rather rash when I pro- 
posed to let Salvini play George du Hamel in 
" F Article 47," but, while the matter was still in the 
air, a small incident occurred that strengthened me 
in my conviction that the boy could act, and could 
also triumph over all linguistic obstacles. A com- 
mittee of policemen from Yonkers had entreated me 
to do something to assist the widow of a brother 
officer. The case was very distressing, and I had 
promised to arrange a little entertainment for them. 
It was to take place in Yonkers, and, while my hus- 
band and I discussed the programme, he suddenly 
said: "Why not ask Salvini to recite something? 
He is warm-hearted and generous, his name would 
please the people, and it would give him a chance to 



ALESSANDRO SALVINI 313 

speak English before an audience that would be 
kinder and less critical than the city audience would 
be." 

The idea was good, and, acting upon it, I spoke 
to Salvini. He was eager to give his help to my plan, 
and when Mr. Harriott read " The Charge of the 
Light Brigade " to him, the boy could scarcely con- 
tain himself for delight. He seized the book and 
began on the instant to study the lines, while Mr. 
Harriott at once introduced his name to its first pro- 
gramme. 

At tea some one used the word " clap-trap." 
"What's that?" quickly demanded the student in 
our midst. " ' Clap-trap ' — ' clap ' is so (he struck 
his hands together) ; * trap ' is for rats — what is then 
' clap-trap '?" 

" It is a vulgar or unworthy bid for applause," 
I explained. 

" Bah! " he contemptuously exclaimed. " I know 
him — that cheap actor who plays at the gallery. 
He is then in English a ' clap-trapper/ is he not? " 

The night arrived, and with it a perfect deluge of 
rain. I had not let the poor fellow know how much 
depended upon his success or failure that evening, 
and when I saw his white face and felt the icy touch 
of his fingers, I was glad of my silence. When he 
went over his lines before Mr. Harriott he was quite 
perfect, but he was well in the clutches of true stage- 
fright. Once, as we waited for the opening of the 
carriage door, he closed his eyes a moment and mur- 
mured: " Ah, I am sick with the scare!" and I 



3 i4 THE LIFE OF A STAR 

answered: "That's because you're an actor born, 
my boy! " and he pressed the folds of my evening 
cloak to his lips, saying: " But you are good to say 
that! I won't shame you — see now! " 

Mr, Harriott, Salvini, and I — all three — recited, 
and some ladies sang very acceptably, but all my 
thought was for the Italian lad fretting up and down 
like a captive tiger — his hands tight clasped behind 
him, his head bowed, and his lips moving, moving, 
moving. He was in evening dress, and looked well 
and at ease in it. He was not like his father either 
in feature or colour. Alessandro's was the ideal 
Roman head; the very low, very wide brow, the up- 
curling thick black hair, the strong, level eyebrows, 
the dark brown eyes, the colourless, ivory-white fea- 
tures, were distinctly foreign. 

At last he was unleashed, and with a bound he 
was on the scrap of a stage, and his high, clear " For- 
w-a-r-d! the Light Brigade ! " must surely have been 
heard down in Broadway. It really was a clever bit 
of work, a trifle too florid; but that was the result 
of nervousness. The instinct of the actor was twice 
plainly shown — once, when in making a mistake, 
instead of stammering or going back to correct his 
error, he swiftly " jumped " the faulty lines, and 
dashed on securely with the others ; and again, when 
at the close he read with much feeling the words : 



" Honour the charge they made! 
Honour the Light Brigade, 
Noble six hundred!" 



ALESSANDRO SALVINI 315 

standing, as if looking into an open grave, he plucked 
the white flower from his coat and cast it down, a 
bit of business that caught the fancy of the house 
instantly. While the people maltreated damp um- 
brellas and kicked out their gum shoes in giving him 
a recall he was clutching his hair and wildly pro- 
testing to me: "Madame Clara, I have never 
meant that for a clap-trap ! Never ! Never! Just 
it came to me that moment to throw the flower to 
the dead! Think me a fool — but not — oh, please 
not, a clap-trapper ! " 

"Go on! Go on! and take your call!" I cried, 
pushing him before me. " No one thought of clap- 
trap ! The business was quite artistic ! Will you go 
on?" 

And when all was over and Mr. Harriott heartily 
congratulated him, he looked fixedly a moment in 
his host's face, then, convinced of his sincerity, he 
gave a shout of joy and hugged himself, whirling 
around and indulging in all the antics of a schoolboy 
at recess, and crying: " Ah, but I am happy — happy 
to my very dregs ! " 

" Your what? " I gasped. 

" My dregs ! " he repeated. " Happy down to 
my heart's very dregs! Why, is not that right? Do 
I make another mistake?" he asked disappointedly. 
And not wishing to see a cloud over his joyous face, I 
answered him that his expression was only a trifle un- 
usual, and through the pouring rain we drove gaily 
home, and Alessandro Salvini had made a first ap- 
pearance in English, in a mere village hall, before 



3 i6 THE LIFE OF A STAR 

a moist and uncomfortable audience, that was just 
beginning to steam beneath the warmth of the lamps, 
when the curtain was mercifully lowered — yet after 
it I could safely claim for the boy stage presence, 
good voice, clear delivery, much self-control, and a 
true artistic temperament that shrank from banali- 
ties and tricky devices. Could and did — and Mr. 
Palmer listened patiently enough, but with just that 
faint smile of disapproval that is so much more dis- 
heartening than violent opposition. 

"There! " I cried at last; " I've said everything 
I can think of ! " 

" Well, I do not believe you've missed anything," 
he replied, with a sorrowful conviction that made 
me realise suddenly how much of his time I was 
taking, and I rose hastily to retire, when he motioned 
me back with the words: "We have given a great 
deal of thought to young Mr. Salvini; now let us 
give a little thought to Miss Morris. I quite agree 
with you that Salvini will make an admirable 
'George' — if he can hold on to the language; but 
think of those two trying situations — think of the 
utter ruin and disaster he may bring upon the play." 
He leaned forward and touched my hand. " What 
would Miss Morris do if George went quite to 
pieces in the mad act?" he asked warningly. 

" Commit murder in her heart, to begin with, 
and then — oh, well ! go mad a bit earlier than usual, 
get him off the stage somehow, and play the game 
out with a lone hand." 

I jested and never dreamed that for one laughing 



ALESSANDRO SALVINI 317 

moment I spoke with the lips of prophecy. Mr. 
Palmer laughed a little, quoted " wilful woman," 
etc., and scribbled Alessandro Salvini's name on the 
cast list for " T Article 47." To this day I am thank- 
ful that he never had reason to regret making that 
concession. 

Rehearsals went forward. Salvini only read his 
part for one day; the second he was perfect in his 
lines, and then began his struggle with accent, in- 
tonation, and the " business " of the play, which was 
intricate and not easy to remember; and, alas, the 
current of his true love for the drama was not to 
run quite smoothly; an irritating obstacle appeared in 
the small person of Mr. Cazauran, who, for reasons 
known only to himself, bitterly opposed the admis- 
sion of Salvini to the cast. He had absolutely no 
interest in the play, yet he fought desperately to 
keep the " foreigner/' as he called him, out. Mr. 
Cazauran, who himself came from France, had a 
stinging and sarcastic tongue, and was given to sud- 
den violent dislikes, which were very apt to be de- 
cidedly active. So, now, having loudly proclaimed 
the certain failure of " this son of his father," as he 
contemptuously termed the boy, he established a 
system of petty annoyances that would have angered 
and distressed any carefully rehearsing actor, but in 
the case of this stranger, nervous, sensitive, excitable, 
struggling with a strange language for his artistic 
life, it was in a fair way to rout all his faculties and 
realise the prophecy of failure. At first, when Mr. 
Cazauran ensconced himself in the chair just beneath 



318 THE LIFE OF A STAR 

the left box, watching and listening intently, we all 
supposed it was for the moment's curiosity, for the 
scene, possibly the act, but — but he was always there, 
always the piercing little eyes watched for some 
gaucherie in George ; the eager ears strained to catch 
first the wrong inflection, the misplaced emphasis. 
The shrug that ran the gamut of amused surprise, 
stricken amazement, pitying horror at such hopeless 
blundering, kept his Gallic shoulders busy, and as 
the days went by Salvini found himself speaking his 
speeches against a running fire of sharp witticisms, 
cutting comments, burlesque compliments, and faint, 
cackling laughter that lost nothing of their power to 
torment through being sotto voce. 

Why was such a thing permitted? Because Mr. 
Palmer was engaged elsewhere. I was directing my 
part of the rehearsals under his stage-manager, who 
was greatly lacking in that quality known in the 
West as sand and in the East as backbone, and who 
was afraid of offending Mr. Cazauran by checking 
him. For some time Salvini had borne it all with 
commendable dignity and self-control, though he 
had said to me once with dilating eyes : " Mon 
Dieu, madame! will he do that thing at night? If — 
if I see him sitting in that chair there, I shall be 
paralysed and just stand and wait for him to cackle 
and crow and shrug." Then I knew the lad's nerves 
were going, under the strain of study, work, and 
worry. 

The opening of the engagement was but two 
days off when he met me one morning, white-faced, 



ALESSANDRO SALVINI 319 

heavy-eyed, and, throwing his hands out helplessly, 
said briefly : " It is all over, madame — I cannot do 
it — I know now ! " 

For one moment hot anger possessed me; then the 
sight of his tragic young face touched my heart, and 
I said: " You have worked too hard — you are un- 
strung. You must take a quiet drive to-day and you 
and I will rehearse at home afterward." 

" No, madame," he replied mournfully; "it is 
not overwork — my nerve strings are all right! It 
is not that I am coward or that I am ungrateful, but, 
madame, neither you nor I, nor anyone else, can stand 
against the evil eye!" I did not laugh; the thing 
was too serious. I knew that argument, ridicule, 
entreaty would be vain. This man shared with thou- 
sands of his countrymen a fixed belief in the malig- 
nant power of the evil eye, and I knew well the 
strength of a true belief. If it be given to blind 
chance or luck, to omens, amulet, and charm — wc 
call it superstition; if to the church and its divine 
founder we call it religion, but in either case it is 
faith and a power, and all I could do was to stare 
helplessly and say to myself over and over: " What 
can I do? only two days — what can I do? " 

He broke the silence with the remorseful words: 
" I am so sorry for you, Madame Clara — for the 
trouble I give. Had I only known I would have 
retired at once, but you know I have try to avoid 
that small man. How I have try to be deaf and 
blind and take no notice, as you have told me to do ; 
but when I meet his eye, full just now, I have come 



220 THE LIFE OF A STAR 

cold, cold like ice, right here " — he pressed his hand 
to his breast — " and then that creep in the hair, and 
I know, right away quick I understand. And he 
know I know, and he cackle his little laugh, and he 
think, oh, only two days and I have you! But, at 
least, he shall not have me before the public. But 
now I am quite ruin ! for no theatre in America will 
ever open for me after this ! " 

And still I stood there thinking: "What can I 
do? Only two days — what can I do? " 

A dull red came into the lad's troubled face. 
" Madame thinks I am coward — am too scare — 
that I — I make a backdown?" His eyes gave a 
flash. " Madame does not believe that the evil eye 
exist?" 

" Oh, y — yes," I answered slowly, " I believe it 
exists — even one of the blood royal of Italy is said 
to be so afflicted ; though in his case the evil influence 
is exerted unwillingly, unconsciously." 

" Y — yes ! yes ! madame, one of our royal dukes 
— ah ! you do understand ! " and his eyes brightened, 
his eager, alert manner returned to him, and I caught 
my cue. Since I could not oppose him, why not 
humour him? And right there a remembrance 
flashed into my mind of the Neapolitan coral charm, 
worn for protection against the evil eye. Could I 
deceive him into acting? It was not an agreeable 
thing to do, but it was for his own good as well as 
mine. For the only time in my life I subscribed to the 
belief that the end justified the means, and, assum- 
ing a rather doubting expression, I asked: "The 



ALESSANDRO SALVINI 321 

coral amulet of Naples — it would be of no use, I 
suppose? " 

He clasped his hands. " But, Madame Clara, we 
are in New York — we cannot beg, steal, or borrow 
such a coral here ! " 

" Don't be so sure," I answered. " I own many- 
odds and ends — a scarab, an Arab charm, and, in a 
wee bag of chamois-skin, a something that to my 
eyes looks like a long tooth of pink coral, pierced to 
allow a thread." 

" Mon Dieu ! " cried the gifted and sorely tried 
youth. " Had I but that ! Oh, we should see ! " 

" Very well," I answered; "you shall have it — 
but only here in the theatre, please. You will return 
it to me after the performance." 

" Certainly, madame ! Ah, but I am happy now 
again ! " He rehearsed admirably, for it happened 
that Mr. Palmer required the services of the foe that 
morning, and next day, with an anxious heart, I 
came with my tiny chamois bag, and retiring to the 
depths of a dusky, dark entrance, I mysteriously 
opened it, just a wee, wee bit, so that Alessandro could 
catch a gleam of the coral, and then drew it closed 
again, passed it to his eager hand, and, sick with fear, 
lest he open it and find it but a slender ear-ring of 
coral, I returned to the stage and began my morning 
work. 

Ah! the wonder of faith! In vain the little, bitter 
man's sneers and gibes and pretended amusements! 
Salvini, bright-eyed, hopeful, smiling, eager, spoke 
out clearly, confidently, and acted as only a foreigner 



322 THE LIFE OF A STAR 

can act in the daylight. And all this happy assurance 
because of the wee bit of coral on his breast. Dear 
boy! I wonder if he would have forgiven me my 
deception had he discovered it? 

The first night was over at last. He had done 
remarkably well, though his accent had gone quite 
wild in the mad act. That was his only fault. The 
people liked him beyond a doubt, and were very 
patient — the American public is ever most beauti- 
fully courteous in such matters. He came to my 
room and kissed my hands and, with shining eyes, 
exclaimed: " Such a letter I shall write to my father 
this night. ,, He threw back his head and laughed 
heartily. " I shall sign myself his ' actor son.* Then, 
if he scold me, I — I " — he pulled a grave face — 
" I shall write him one very long letter in English. 
A-a-ah ! that will punish him ; for, madame, great as 
my father is, he simply cannot learn English — and, 
little as I am, I can — can't I, madame?" 

A very charming boy was young Alessandro Sal- 
vini, and yet, the second week of the engagement, 
he one night brought the play to grief and me to 
shame and mortification — for to give way to passion 
always causes me the deepest humiliation afterward. 
My natural temper being quick and hot to fierceness, 
circumstances from my very infancy demanded of 
me perfect docility or my room instead of my com- 
pany. I had learned submission before I had grown 
steady on my legs, and on obedience hung all the 
law and the prophets of my dreary life. Willing 
obedience to my mother, forced obedience to peo- 



ALESSANDRO SALVINI 323 

pie en masse, respectful obedience to employers. 
Naturally, then, I attained to considerable self-control, 
and, loving my kind heartily, I found myself rated in 
theatres as an amiable woman. Exacting about 
" business," but amiable, and the more unworthy I 
knew myself to be the more I prized the reputation 
that this protege of mine placed in such jeopardy. 

The play, judged merely from the physical stand- 
point, was very trying and demanded every particle 
of my strength. It was growing old and so familiar 
to me that it required all my imagination to force 
me into the reckless, primitive nature whose love and 
hate were alike implacable; and, when I had cast 
all restraint, all self-control, as far away as possible 
for artistic reasons, they, alas, could not be instantly 
recalled for personal reasons. We had reached the 
point where with narrowing eyes and frothing lips 
Cora suddenly ceased rocking to and fro and began 
her first, her only stammering plea for " pity," for 
" pardon ! " A plea that George was to hear in 
silence — in dead, complete silence, without a move- 
ment, save when he averts his face at the close of her 
wild rush of words that stumbled over each other 
— then she, the untamed, the unconquerable, slowly, 
with absolute surrender in every line of her body, 
falls upon her knees and holds pleading arms out to 
him, saying simply: "Forgive me?" He never 
moves. " Please ! " she entreats, low, like a punished 
child. He never moves. "You will not pity me?" 
Slowly, silently, he turns his contemptuous face away 
from her. "You will not even look at me?" A 



3 2 4 THE LIFE OF A STAR 

mortal anguish shakes her, her wild eyes rove aim- 
lessly about, then, in one only attempt at womanly 
dignity, she rises slowly, stretches out her arm, 
pointing to the door, and says : " Go ! Oh, you are 
free ; you need never look upon my face again ! " 
He starts silently to retire, when she falls in a hud- 
dled heap in the chair with the anguished cry : " Yet 
I suffer! God! Oh, God! how I suffer!" Two 
minutes later he denounces her as mad, and the 
partition that separates reason from madness goes 
down with a crash that leaves Cora a raging, gib- 
bering maniac. 

The trouble began with a double negative from 
Salvini that caused a titter among the thoughtless 
actors in the scene. Wounded, he let go mentally of 
his part long enough to cast a reproach or two upon 
the actors, missed a cue in doing it, was seized with 
a trembling, permitted himself to think in Italian, 
and then found himself standing helplessly before 
the concentrated rage, the glaring eyes, and dilating 
nostrils of the amiable woman who had helped him 
to the stage. 

Wildly he spoke the wrong line. "Be silent!" 
hissed Cora. " For heaven's sake, keep still if you 
can," and resumed her pitiful pleading: " You will 
not pity me? " she moaned. (Good heavens! he was 
coming toward her!) "Keep still! Keep still!" 
she fiercely commanded in a whisper; then aloud: 
" You will not even look at me? " (and that terror- 
stricken boy crept over to Cora and tenderly tried 
to lift her to her feet, murmuring with wet eyes: 



ALESSANDRO SALVINI 325 

" Pardon! oh, pardon! ") and, with a shriek of gen- 
uine frenzy, a cry rang through the theatre, unknown 
in that play before : " I could kill ! I could kill ! Take 
him away! Don't touch me! Jean! Jacques!" (to 
imaginary servants) " Show monsieur to the door? " 
The prompter was running and crying : " Come off ! 
Come off!" 

Salvini dimly remembered he had to denounce 
Cora. He hesitated — she bit her lips until the blood 
offended her, and unconsciously tore into ribbons 
the veil that bandaged her scarred face. 

Again that shriek rose to the very roof: " Til 
kill! I'll kill! Go— go— go!" 

A hand appeared between the curtains of the 
gambling rooms and caught his arm and drew him 
away. As his white face disappeared he said aghast : 
" Mon Dieu! she's gone quite mad! and I did it! " 

The words, the manner, were inspired. Though 
the boy meant / was mad, the words fitted into the 
play so well that only old-timers guessed the awful 
havoc he had worked in the act. Small wonder the 
doctor asked for me two overtures after that act — 
that I had to finish alone, cutting out a few words 
George should have spoken at the end. Shame? No 
one could have sounded the depths of shame I knew. 

But the shame : who could sound the depths of my 
deep shame as with swift apologies to all concerned 
I hurriedly sought the refuge of my dressing-room ? 
"Where is Salvini? " I asked presently, and people 
looked at one another and laughed. Later I said 
again, " Where's Salvini ? " for he generally turned 



326 THE LIFE OF A STAR 

aside on his way out of the theatre to tap at my door 
and call a gay " Good-night, Madame ! " or wish me 
better health for the next day, as the occasion might 
suggest. But to-night ! 

" Where's Salvini? " repeated the gasman; " why 
he bolted! Honestly, Miss Morris, he left the build- 
ing, make-up and all, just as you drove him off the 
stage ! " 

" Oh ! " I groaned, and over me swept the wave 
of shame again. Next night my husband met the 
young actor by chance, who instantly flung up his 
hands crying: " Oh ! was it not awful? I — / to have 
done that thing — to have kill that act? " Mr. Har- 
riott laughed as he said : " You had a happy escape 
last night, for, for a few moments, your Madame 
Clara certainly wanted to kill you," and was aston- 
ished by the lad's answering with perfect serious- 
ness: "As she had the right! So would my father 
do, if someone spoiled his great scene — he would 
kill with his bare hands! Last night I get quite 
crazy, by the head — I do all wrong — all until I kill 
the play — then she want to kill me — and that's why 
I run away! Oh, yes! I am quite wise — some- 
times ! " 

And though that speech filled others with unquali- 
fied amusement, his calm justification of my wild 
conduct was an actual balm to my wounded self- 
respect, and ever after we played on in peace and 
amity. 

Our ways parted at the close of that engagement. 
Now and again we met briefly, and I had the oppor- 



ALESSANDRO SALVINI 327 

tunity of congratulating him upon his wonderful ad- 
vance in his beloved profession. His chiefest pride 
seemed to be that he had won his father's approval 
and his warm interest in his work. But his ambition 
soared high — high. Never did I see him that he was 
not tremblingly aspiring to play some new part. He 
used actually to change colour when he spoke of 
Romeo, so intense were his longings and his fears; 
and when at last he dared it — what an ideal! Testy 
— tempestuous — tender — " his shape," " his love," 
" his wit," did truly make him the " fond madman " 
old Laurence chided. He did careful as well as bril- 
liant work. It was not all dash and instinct with 
him; he could delve, could weigh and measure, and 
give good reason for his action. When it came to 
" character " work, such as the grave and stolid Ger- 
man, the strict man of business, in " Fromont and 
Risler," an astonishing performance came from the 
impetuous and romantic young Italian. 

There can be no doubt that the early death of 
Alessandro Salvini meant loss to the American stage, 
serious loss. There was a largeness of promise for 
his future that made many thoughtful lovers of the 
drama turn hopeful eyes toward him, for, beneath 
the dash and sparkle were energy, determination, 
and tenacity. 

Already he had turned from veiled Folly's secret 
lure and smile to openly pursue the chosen one whose 
flight led straight to the church's open doors. Again 
he was in opposition to his great father's wishes, 
who disapproved of a professional marriage; yet 



328 THE LIFE OF A STAR 

when, the season ended, Alessandro returned to Italy, 
the divinely beautiful land of his birth, his bride was 
greeted — how? Greeted just as you would have 
Tommaso Salvini — Italian gentleman and first actor 
of his time — greet her, the strange foreign wife of 
that beloved hot-headed son of his. Nor was his 
gracious cordiality mere propriety, mere habitual 
native hospitality. For when the day came for flight, 
and the returning pair faced toward America, Signor 
Salvini's new daughter looked not unlike some idol, 
glittering with votive offerings — so be-ringed, ear- 
ringed, watched, locketed, chained, braceleted was 
she by the generosity of the famous man, who thus 
tried to express the esteem and affection he felt for 
the woman his son had chosen. And Alessandro 
whispered while in his father's arms : " I will never 
oppose your will again, papa! Whatever you ask, 
that will I do — truly, truly! Ah! do not laugh — I 
mean it ! " 

And yet how short was the time till the great actor 
implored in vain that son to live — just to live — to 
live! But habit was strong; Alessandro had opposed 
his adoring father's wishes so often, and he had 
always become quite reconciled. Perhaps even now — 
he smiled lovingly into his pleading eyes, but he did 
not live. 



XX 
FROM SAND-DUNE TO MOUNTAIN-TOP 

ONE of the chief products of the sandy soil of 
San Francisco is the wily, strategic, acro- 
batic flea — I might say the democratic flea, 
since all men taste alike to him and the clerk in the 
boarding-house hall bedroom responding to the fa- 
miliar nip knows he is rubbing no whit harder than is 
the millionaire up on Nob Hill, while if the latter's 
wife in shop or show-room betrays an inclination to 
lean against the sharp edge of a door, any San Fran- 
ciscan present will instantly turn away and thus gal- 
lantly give the lady her chance to " bless the Duke 
of Argyle " in peace. 

These things you come to understand in the course 
of time, but just at first the stranger is prone to laugh 
as at fairy tales when told of wedding parties held up 
by these small, spry highwaymen; of the best man 
frantically digging with one patent-leather at the tor- 
mented calf of the other leg; of the minister, who 
having been flea-welted from his heels up, could bear 
no more, and so reached over his shoulder and sav- 
agely scratched his back with his prayer-book. But 
wait, your time will come as mine did and then you 
will bless the San Francisco gentleman for his quick 
perception of your torture, for his silent, swift screen- 
ing of you, while you grasp your apparel with both 
hands and with one comprehensive movement, twist 

329 



33 o THE LIFE OF A STAR 

everything half-around and back again, thus bring- 
ing confusion and sometimes dislodgement to your 
enemy. 

I had played my engagement out at the California 
Theatre and had gone down to Passo de Robles for 
rest and for the waters of that wonderful spring, 
boiling up hot, translucent, green as emeralds liqui- 
fied, but smelling to Heaven and tasting of the other 
place. But my stay was brief at the hotel, which with 
spreading wings sat hen-like ready to shelter a whole 
brood of little chick-like cottages scattered about it. 
The Improvement Company had just, at great ex- 
pense, placed a hitching-post in front of my cottage, 
where the riding-horses could be left tied, that being 
more agreeable to me than the young Mexican lads' 
primitive habit of peering into my bedroom window 
to see if I were dressed yet. 

I was no sooner well settled than the first flake of 
a telegraphic snowstorm fell. They were in trouble 
at the theatre in San Francisco, and wanted me back 
— oh, my! Their announced attraction had failed 
them; a local actress, a great favourite, who often 
played special engagements with them and to whom 
they had naturally turned in their difficulty, was se- 
riously ill. I was therefore their only hope. Would I 
not come back and save them from closing for several 
nights? — a fatal thing to do right in the heart of the 
season ? 

I was sympathetic in ten words, concluding with 
" Have no play," and went out to ride. 

They were frantic, entreating in twenty words, and 



SAND-DUNE TO MOUNTAIN-TOP 331 

in many more informed me that the company was 
fairly up in one play, which could be done in two re- 
hearsals — Sunday night and Monday morning — if 
only I would undertake to study the leading part, 
Jane Shore. Gracious Heavens ! I nearly fell out of 
of my saddle as I read. Were they crazy? That old, 
old, stilted, blank-verse, melancholy play? And Jane 
was longer than the moral law; and where were the 
dresses to come from? I became satirical. I could 
not resist the impulse. I telegraphed: "Don't hesi- 
tate — if you don't see what you want, just ask for 
it." 

But they were not to be disturbed by a little thing 
like that. The mail brought me a copy of " Jane 
Shore," and wires still hummed with entreaties. My 
percentage was to be increased, while their gratitude 
would be eternal. 

I answered " Jane has no clothes " — They re- 
sponded: " Dead loads of clothes here. Wardrobe 
woman at your service to correct loaned costumes. 
Come for Heaven's sake ! " 

Alas, the wet handkerchief went to my forehead, 
my maid and husband packed and brewed coffee to 
keep me awake, while I strove to make the acquaint- 
ance of the antiquated Jane; and next day I aban- 
doned my holiday and turned my face toward the 
great city on the sand — and work ! 

Seated by the side of the " woman-hating " driver 
I felt my very soul expand with pride when he passed 
me the reins and allowed me to guide the four slam- 
ming big horses. I had gone down with this same 



332 THE LIFE OF A STAR 

driver, who had. at first glared at me and privately 
had sworn fire and flame at having " a damn cackling 
woman " on the box with him. But when, after sit- 
ting one whole afternoon in dead silence at his side, 
I had suddenly informed him that his " nigh leader " 
had picked up a stone, he spoke surprisedly of my 
knowing enough to see that quicker than he could. 
Then next morning at dawn, with a cry of delight, I 
had grasped his arm and pointed to a gaunt, brood- 
ing, almost tragic shape outlined high against the 
shell-pink sky, he excitedly answered: " A bald eagle, 
by — thunder! Say, that's only the second one I've 

ever seen in these 'ere mountains! Well, by 

(some more things) you use your eyes more than 
your tongue ! " 

And from that out we were on such friendly terms 
that when I made my final bear-like backward descent 
from the coach, he told me I must surely return with 
him: " But," I laughed in answer, "suppose some 
man is ahead of me and has the box-seat? " 

" Why," replied my red-shirted friend, " if he's a 
gentleman he'll climb right out, and if he isn't, I'll 
h'ist him out — savvy! eh?" He wagged a grimy 
forefinger before my face, adding emphatically: 
" You'll ride on the box, and you'll hold the reins, 
and you may turn the whole damn'd outfit over if you 
want ter. I'm talking now — so you tell your pardner 
there, that you're to go back with me ! So long, — git 
up there, will yer! " 

And now I was going back and I was driving with 
the great reins cutting my thin gloves into ribbons 



SAND-DUNE TO MOUNTAIN-TOP 333 

and incidentally blistering my palms, while pride kept 
me from giving them up as long as he trusted me with 
them. 

Then suddenly there came a burning sting in my 
side accompanied by a rapidly spreading itchiness of 
such exquisite intensity of torment as I had never 
dreamed of before. I gave a little " Oh ! " and tried 
to rub my side with my elbow. Another sting — I 
writhed in misery ! The driver had just removed the 
handle of his whip from between his shoulder blades, 
where he had been churning it up and down, appar- 
ently to his great comfort; and turning comprehend- 
ing eyes upon me, he inquired briefly: "Fleas?" 
Then taking the reins, he added with perfect calm- 
ness and simplicity: " If they're about your stocking, 
Miss Clara, I'll hitch around a bit and you can go 
for 'em?" 

One indignant glance I flashed at him only to 
meet such honest and sympathetic eyes that wild mer- 
riment seized upon me and I laughed so long and so 
hard that the driver gazed and gazed and at last com- 
mented, half-sullenly : " Well, I never see anyone 
afore able ter laugh at fleas! I've laughed with a 
shot through my shoulder, when I stood off stage rob- 
bers that were trying to hold up the old shebang — 
but laughing at fleas is too many for me ! " Then so 
contagious is real tear-wringing merriment, he too be- 
gan to rumble forth an accompanying laughter, jolly 
and good to hear out there in the pale green loneliness, 
under the mighty arch of blue. Presently he drew 
the back of his hand across his eyes and declared he 



334 THE LIFE OF A STAR 

hadn't laughed so much since the last time his mother 
had tried to lick him, when her slipper flew out of 
her hand and went down the well, and she had to pay 
him to fish it out again! 

Then there was an unpleasantly full and rapidly 
moving stream to ford, and the driver warned me to 
hold tight for fear some sudden lurch might throw 
me off. The whip hissed harmlessly over the four 
horses, who with ears laid back plunged into the 
water and amid alternate curses and endearments 
slipped and stumbled over the stony bottom. Then, 
coming out on the sand, strained to four level lines 
of backs with every muscle made visible in the des- 
perate effort to keep the coach from stalling in the 
clutching sand. Tears were running down my cheeks 
when we came out upon solid earth again and when 
I laid my hand on the driver's and looked beseech- 
ingly at him, he said: " All right — hola ! whoa Jim! 
whoa boys ! " and as they stood panting, leaning their 
shoulders against one another, he added: "That 
damn'd sand pull takes more than ten miles of travel 
out of them horses ! Say, after this, I'll give 'em this 
breathin' spell — for you — every time — sure! I'm 
square — and that stands, Miss Morris! " 

A promise that made my heart rejoice, and several 
years afterward, meeting John McCullough, he asked 
me if I remembered the " woman-hating " stage 
driver. I said that I did — " Well," he went on, " he 
returns the compliment, for there's a spot on the road 
where he gives his team, what he calls " the Morris 
breather." 



SAND-DUNE TO MOUNTAIN-TOP 335 

My return to the theatre was hailed with joy, my 
reception was touching in the extreme — for you see 
no man can be indifferent to the person who helps to 
defend his pocketbook. I drove those wrong-end-to 
lines of Rowe's composing into my memory by main 
force, shocked everyone by expressing my strong pref- 
erence for the treacherous Alicia, as an acting part, 
rather than the lachrymose Jane; borrowed one gown, 
had the last garment, known to the old-time chronicler 
as a " white shift," made and with the aid of a velvet 
robe I chanced to have with me, provided Jane with 
a sort of wardrobe. 

Just to show how hard it is to balk an actress of 
her will when she really thinks she requires a certain 
material for a stage costume, let me tell you about 
that same " white shift." At that time the only crape 
known to our commerce was the stiff black horror 
used for mourning gowns and the exquisite but rare 
and oh, how costly, white china crape. The crinkly 
softness of this last was delightfully effective for 
stage use, and all these craped weaves of wool and 
cotton were yet unknown. Jane Shore, barefooted, 
taper in hand, makes, according to her sentence, 
shameful public penance ; her nudity concealed by one 
sole garment, a chemise, and that all stained by mud 
and filth flung by the mob. 

Crape — my soul cried out for the crinkly clinging 
of crape, for this sole garment of shame and woe ! I 
sighed at the thought of deliberately soiling the lovely 
fabric; sighed again at the heavy cost for one week 
of wear, and then found I could not obtain it — not 



336 THE LIFE OF A STAR 

until the coming in of the City of Something from 
China ; and two days only we had to work in, remem- 
ber. Straightway I experimented with a rag in a bowl 
of water, and then obtained soft, thin, unbleached 
cotton — a beautiful night-white that — got many yards 
and had the whole soaked in water, then wrung tight 
as man's hands could wring it, and leaving it in that 
hard twist, had it dried rapidly by furnace heat, then 
unrolled and shook out to find a creamy, crinkly, 
clinging material that might joy the eye of any artist; 
and everyone rejoiced with me and cried " Glory to 
Allah!" 

But the " creation," to quote the great Worth's 
favourite expression, was not complete, even after it 
had been " run up " into a sort of shapeless, graceful 
trail. All actors know the utter hopelessness of try- 
ing to manufacture rags — it can't be done. No won- 
der that even the stout-hearted, the stately Cushman, 
wept true womanly tears, when by carelessness or theft 
some of her precious Meg Merrilies rags, worn for 
twenty years, were lost. And one actor, that I re- 
member, advertised and later on paid for an entire 
" made to order " suit of clothes, for the return of 
the ragged coat and trousers of his part. If you doubt 
it — try it yourself. A skirt is the easiest article to 
experiment on, but when you have done your very 
best you will have to acknowledge a failure. The 
worn, frayed, dismally-faded look is absent, and the 
tears are too violent and generally unexplainable. 
Then a soiled garment is even harder to manage. 
Rags you can buy, if you have a little tact as well as 



SAND-DUNE TO MOUNTAIN-TOP 337 

money — but, dear Heaven! you don't want to buy 
dirt! 

A friend experimented on a white skirt for me on 
this occasion, but the result was artificial in the ex- 
treme — splotches of dirt on a perfectly clean surface. 
I read again carefully the speech wherein Jane's ap- 
pearance is described: her meekness, her exhaustion, 
her footsteps all marked with blood — the need of rai- 
ment to wrap her shivering bosom from the weather. 
How on her shoulders, carelessly confused, with loose 
neglect, her lovely tresses hung; and the mob, hoot- 
ing and railing and with villainous hands gathering 
the filth from out the common ways to hurl upon 
her. 

There was our cue. I gave my spotless gown of 
penance to the chambermaid, begging her to dust the 
tables, chairs and chiffonieres with it that day and at 
night I had my friend don it and stand in the stage 
door, while the property-man literally followed the 
poet's words and flung dirt, letting it strike where it 
would. Then a few tufts of grass crushed against 
the hem and about the knees gave the greenish stains 
of falls upon earth, when she had " scaped the flinty 
pavements for a time." And with a faint smear or 
two of blood in front communicated from the 
wounded feet, I had at last as sad, as sorrowful, as 
shamed a garment as ever " sinful woman starved 
and dee'd in." Actresses the world over are full of 
inventiveness, of adaptability, of power to lightly and 
swiftly skip around the obstacle they cannot push 
aside. Of course the craping of the cotton was a 



338 THE LIFE OF A STAR 

very simple device which had probably been practised 
by many another actress prompted thereto by Mama 
Necessity. But other inventions of mine are more 
original, more worthy of attention and some day 
when you have time and are graciously inclined I 
will present them for your consideration, in company 
with the best effort of a brother actor, who because 
of it was known to fame as Mr. Tackhammer 
Thomas, and whose loving friends when inquiring 
about the health of his offspring, invariably asked 
after his Little Tacks, and told him never to — but 
oh, I beg your pardon! 

" Jane Shore " was announced in three-story 
red type and the management, hoping doubtless to 
arouse in the public a certain spirit of clemency and 
forbearance toward the hurried and harried, whose 
work might well prove below the usual standard, had 
given to the press the story of the abandoned holi- 
day, the gorging of the blank verse part and my 
reappearance after but two rehearsals. The story 
caught the fancy of the people, they thought they 
saw a touch of good-fellowship in it and straightway 
they enthused. They liked the hustle of this man- 
ager; they raved over the generosity of the star's 
ready return and my mild reminder that my generosity 
was well paid for did not in the least affect them. Of 
course it was all exaggerated, even absurd, but, good 
Heaven, look at the sunshine out there ! And the cli- 
mate! 

Imagine my feelings if you can, after climbing de- 
jectedly onto my high stilts ready to wade before a 



SAND-DUNE TO MOUNTAIN-TOP 339 

light house through the gross, dull, tedious, old 
play, to go on instead to a house full of smiling, 
bright-eyed people, who greeted and joyously wel- 
comed, until pleased surprise changed to a sort of 
humility, a shamed delight, that brought my head 
low upon my breast and left me for the moment 
helpless, confused and unable to recall one line of the 
prolix and prosy Jane. Fortunately Belmour (Harry 
Edwards) had to speak first and his word brought my 
memory back to me and from a sense of mischief — 
which was artistically simply unpardonable — I spoke 
my opening line directly at the audience, instead of to 
my companion : 

"My gentle neighbour, your good wishes still 
Pursue my helpless fortunes . . ** 

And the words were scarcely over my lips before a 
burst of applause and laughter answered me delight- 
edly. You see it takes more even than Rowe's verse 
to dull the perception of our audiences. 

We were going on famously and with astonishing 
smoothness, all things considered, for the cast was 
an exceptionally strong one and we had been work- 
ing together for the past month, and that tells greatly 
in such an emergency, and I had got out of my bor- 
rowed gown, also that gross and Pecksniffian scene 
with Hastings was happily behind me, and my 
bosom's lord was sitting quite lightly on his throne, 
when I began to wonder at the effect my second cos- 
tume was having upon the actors. Some raised their 



34 o THE LIFE OF A STAR 

hands above their heads in mock horror, some smirked 
and bowed and kissed their hands at my train and 
murmured : " Thanks, so much." 

It was handsome — I knew that. It was fairly cor- 
rect — of ruby velvet, square-necked, tight inner 
sleeves, long hanging outer sleeves and immense train 
trimmed all around with broad bands of fine, long- 
haired fur — yet glee, unmistakable, malicious glee 
danced in every eye that fell upon that gown. 

As I stood ready to go on to the scene with Gloster, 
the head-carpenter grinned and said: "Well, Miss 
Morris, you ain't lacking in no nerve anyway," and 
to my amazed look answered: "That's a fine dress, 
but by the great Bonanza ! I'd rather you'd wear it 
than me though — unless I'd just had my hide chemi- 
cally treated ! " 

And then my cue came and as with calm dignity I 
swept on to face my dread foe I saw standing in the 
opposite entrance, one known to us all as " The first 
fiend." He was consulting an enormous silver turnip 
of a watch, which had a white old face but no hands, 
and he said loudly enough for me to hear: "How 

long — let's see how long before " and dear 

Heaven, it was not long! I was only in my second 
speech : 

" Oh, that the busy world at least in this, 
Would take example from a wretch like me!" 

when I felt a burning sting, a spreading, penetrating 
itchiness that seemed to reach the very marrow of the 



SAND-DUNE TO MOUNTAIN-TOP 341 

bones, and as by lightning flash I saw the joke about 
my dress, that fur meant fleas! With wide-flaring 
eyes and quivering nostrils I went on — when nip ! 
again just beneath my shoulder blade! I writhed 
and twisted in positive torment. Gloster who saw and 
understood my suffering, stalked over to me and in 
august dignity secretly scratched my back — in the 
wrong place. Oh, never again ! I vowed as beads of 
sweat came out upon my brow, never! would I jest at 
the local flea — for now the enemy was upon me ! and 
verily he was smiting me hip and thigh ! Disconcerted 
by such maddening itchiness, such astonishing rapacity, 
my memory tottered. I stammered as I surreptitiously 
rubbed here and clutched there, but was unaware that 
the house had guessed the cause of the starts and stops 
and choppy speeches. At last — oh, at long last — the 
scene was drawing to a close. Bitten almost from 
head to foot, eyes filled with tears of suffering, I 
flung myself upon my knees and passionately begin- 
ning the speech : 

" Let me be branded for the public scorn! " 

had reached the line : 

" Ere I consent to teach my lips injustice/ " 

when again the burning twinge, the agonising itch, 
and glancing down, there upon the whiteness of my 
breast, his slim thighs hunched high like a grass- 
hopper, sat the biggest, blackest, most warlike flea I 



342 THE LIFE OF A STAR 

ever saw. I stopped in the middle of the word — I 
had no thought of witnesses — my finger tip flew to 
my moistening lips and like a flash descended upon 
and clutched my foe — while good and loud, the man 
at the kettle-drum cried, triumphantly: " She's got 
him!" 

Shall I ever forget that mighty roar of laughter — 
then applause — then of laughter and applause ! How 
it rolled and rumbled away only to burst forth again. 
Next day brought me a bunch of flowers accompanied 
by a fine-tooth comb, and this message: "For that 
long fur — from one who has suffered ! " — while a 
round-robin of thanks from the company was found 
pinned to my red gown, that declared: " Every flea 
in the theatre has accepted your invitation and is 
camping in this fur, and so giving us a rest — thanks, 
dear friend ! " 

Long afterwards, in New York City, Miss Gene- 
vieve Ward was producing with spectacular effects 
" Jane Shore," and alas, in her magnificent velvets 
and furs she met full in the face one of our awful 
September hot waves — 95 during the day — and at 
night the heat in the gaslit theatre was terrible. Num- 
bers of people were removed quite overcome. Miss 
Ward showed a marvellous power of patient endur- 
ance. No fan even did she carry and though her face 
and throat and breast rained perspiration, not a move- 
ment or gesture betrayed her physical discomfort. I 
was stifling in a box, but for sweet courtesy's sake 
would not withdraw. Then an old gentleman, who 
had stared rather persistently at me through his great 



SAND-DUNE TO MOUNTAIN-TOP 343 

glass, sent a card to the box on the back of which was 
scribbled: " Does Jane Shore always have such hard 
luck on first nights? It's 190 down here and no 
shade, and I protest this is worse than fleas — my 
homage ! " 

A laugh broke from my lips — I glanced downward 
and nodded slightly, when the white haired old man 
astonished those about him by rising, placing his 
hand over his heart and bowing to the breaking point. 
Of course on turning over the card I found the ad- 
dress was San Francisco. 

Curiosity had prompted me to accept tempting of- 
fers to visit some of the principal mining centres on 
my way East — those strange, raw, rough-edged 
mountain cities where a bank or insurance building 
will rear its splendour of marble, of plate-glass, of 
electric lighting, of mahogany furnishings, side by 
side with a camper's tent. Where the fine hotel stands 
dos-a-dos with the clay-chinked log house of an early 
settler. 'Where a stately church or two tightly close 
their eyes all the week not to see the faro-bank, the 
opium-joint, the dance-hall and the saloon — who gaily 
chassee up to their very doors. Prairie schooners trail 
slowly through the streets where at night the inky 
shadows and strange swimming radiance of the arc- 
light terrify country horses and solemn swaying oxen. 
Where the erect, alert, perfectly dressed Eastern busi- 
ness man stands chatting with the countryman who 
seems all boot-tops and fur cap. Where the miner is 
by daylight conspicuous by his absence — being away 



344 THE LIFE OF A STAR 

at his toil, and the prettiest and most promising of 
sights is the well-built, well-lighted schoolhouse, 
swarming with the burliest of little chaps and the 
rosiest of little maids. I was of course far from com- 
fortable in the make-shift theatres, but the people in- 
terested me greatly. I had become too all mixed up 
geographically and was quite unaware that we were 
steadily climbing higher and higher, as we looped and 
circled and zig-zagged our way through the grim 
grandeur of the repellent Rockies; and one night I 
awakened from a horrid dream of suffocation, to find 
myself astonishingly short of breath and much puz- 
zled by the loud thumping and curious antics of my 
heart — that now and then beat heavily in the locality 
I had supposed to be sacred to the stomach; and while 
I was still in the wonder of that, up it sprang into the 
hollow of my throat, fluttering irregularly and scar- 
ing me into a search for smelling salts. Next day I 
yawned and yawned and sighed and sighed and on 
our arrival, in walking about half a block to reach the 
waiting hack, I stopped outright and clutched my 
labouring chest. Some baggage- and hack-men stand- 
ing by grinned broadly at me. Now I am so consti- 
tuted that should a ravening wild animal grin at me 
I'd instantly respond without asking his intentions; 
therefore I smiled back, a trifle wonderingly at these 
men, and as my driver, with clumsy care assisted me 
into his ancient ark, he remarked: " It's pretty tough 
on a stranger, mum, I reckon just at first," and 
slammed the door. 

" What was tough?" I asked myself and looked 



SAND-DUNE TO MOUNTAIN-TOP 345 

out inquiringly. " If he means the steepness of the 
streets, why this is nothing to Seattle's terrifying 
grades." 

By night, I suppose I had said to myself a hundred 
times: " Why, what is the matter with me? " Even 
my dog was unhappy and disturbed, rising and whirl- 
ing around and around, trying a new position nearly 
every ten minutes. I was ashamed to speak of not 
being able to catch my breath. I thought the sighing 
and yawning meant perhaps indigestion, until in my 
dressing-room in attempting to hasten a little, my 
breathlessness frightened me. Sharply I threw open 
the door and outside I saw one of my ladies leaning 
against the wall, her eyes closed, her hand pressed to 
her side, an image of distress; and directly in front 
of me an actor dressed for his part stood in sullen pa- 
tience wiping the trickling blood from his nose, and 
like a flash, as if in letters of fire, I seemed to see the 
words : " Leadville — 10,200 feet above the sea-level. ,, 
I recalled how a friend of mine, after a hemorrhage, 
had with blood still flowing from the nostrils been 
rushed to a lower level in a special car, in a frantic 
effort to save her life. It was this altitude then that 
made it " tough for strangers " just at first. " Oh ! " 
I thought, " if Heaven will only grant me breath to 
get through this night's work, I shall have just sense 
enough to keep away from Leadville all the rest of 
my life ! " But oh, there was so much play and so 
little breath ! I had got through one act only and my 
condition seemed alarming. One of the stage hands 
came up to me and said wistfully: " Miss Morris, I 



346 THE LIFE OF A STAR 

came from your city; will you shake hands with me, 
just for old New York's sake? " 

"Yes," I answered, "willingly!" 

As he held my fingers tightly, he went on : "I 
climbed over a fence last night and turned loose a 
captive hawk, they had there in misery, poor devil! 
If you could only have seen him rise out of that 
place ! Holy smoke ! " I said, " I wish I could fly like 
that, I'd just swoop down these damned mountains 
and whirl into the old City Hall Park in New York, 
and — good Lord, woman, don't strain and struggle so 
like that for breath or you'll burst a blood vessel! 
See here — breathe like this. I know you feel as if 
you'll die in a minute or two, but you won't if only 
you'll take it easier. Here — drop your arms limp 
beside you, and then catch lightly, quickly but lightly, 
at the air — see — like this." Two men passed between 
us carrying a table : " Well, the devil take your im- 
pudence ! " cried my mentor. " Keep out of the way, 
can't you? I'm trying to help the star to breathe! " 
And the star suddenly proved she had breath enough 
for at least laughter. Again and again he warned me, 
entreatingly, profanely: " Don't struggle so damn'd 
hard — you'll do yourself a damage ! " 

And then at last the dreaded scene came. We had 
been playing " Camille " in the other mining towns, 
but thinking to lighten my work for a night or two, a 
German play, I loathed, had been put on and one act 
closed with the longest, most exhausting speech I ever 
had to deliver in a play. Standing between husband 
and mother-in-law, she sums up all the unhappiness 



SAND-DUNE TO MOUNTAIN-TOP 347 

of her past, makes furious accusations and finally de- 
livers a mad malediction and flings out of the house. 
I began — my breath came short and quick. I spoke 
more and more rapidly. My nostrils began to show 
dead white edges from extreme dilation. My mentor 
crowded into the prompt place and wildly shook head 
and hands at me. I gasped painfully and unhooked 
the bottom of my dress waist — a little relief came. I 
went on rapidly with rising voice, my hands clutching 
at my heart, and further opening my dress. The lead- 
ing man edged closer to me and whispered : " For 
God's sake, go easy! " A sort of fury seized upon 
me — I could have struck him for his warning. I reck- 
lessly determined to give the speech as usual though 
I died for it ! In just such senseless rages women have 
taken their foolish lives ere now. I flung wide my 
arms and began: 

" May you sorrow through the days and agonise through 
the nights as I have done ! " 

I tried to moisten my parched lips and tore on through 
the endless speech. Then I began to falter — I couldn't 
breathe ! Was I lost — had I failed when so near the 
end? I remembered vaguely the relief at opening my 
dress. Without a thought, save for breath — blessed 
breath ! — I turned one moment, caught the top of my 
corset and with a violent twist and wrench unclasped 
it — then whirled about and like a very fury, cursed 
man and woman both — dashed the door open and fell 
headlong into someone's arms — as the curtain ran 



348 THE LIFE OF A STAR 

down, and in my mentor's words: " Hell broke loose 
out in front ! " 

Water and spirits of ammonia stood me upon my 
feet directly, but mortal shame kept me from going 
before the curtain: " What will they think of me? " 
I wept as I drew my gown together with both hands. 

"Think? think?" cried the head carpenter, 
" They'll think you're the grittiest thing that's struck 
this town for many a year ! Why, they all know what 
you was unbucklin' your belt for — they used to do it 
themselves once ! You go on out there, or there'll be 
a riot — sure's your born ! " 

And I went out and learned something of what the 
honest miner can do with his hands when he's not 
mining for lead, silver, or gold! One old chap, in a 
bearskin coat, stood up and beat the chair back with 
his soft felt hat, crying: " Bray-vo ! Bray-vo ! " while 
a little group of " our social leaders," perfectly coif- 
fured, well wrapt in the soft splendour of rare furs, 
sat and dried their eyes on small rags of costly lace, 
and clapped their white-gloved hands, as fair to eyes, 
as sweet to scent as hot-house flowers — but so incon- 
gruously placed that I was not surprised when the 
gas-man remarked to the prompter : " Say, seein' them 
lovely women come here's kinder like havin' a pipe- 
dream, pard ! " And the prompter took the pen- 
holder from between his lips to answer: "Yep, but 
it's just for such pretty, helpless things that men turn 
themselves into moles and go burrowing through the 
earth. No woman — no miner!" 

The play was over and moving cautiously about I 



SAND-DUNE TO MOUNTAIN-TOP 349 

had made ready for my car, when I was halted by my 
manager, who with a secret gesture that appealed for 

pardon, presented to me a Mr. , dear me, I can't 

recall the name, yet I do not weep. It is enough that 
I recall him — his feet of height, his rolling gait, his 
clothing of fine material, but suicidal cut, his long 
black cigar clenched by big square teeth at an angle 
of forty-five degrees, his habit of wearing hands, 
wrists and part of his arms in his trousers pockets, 
the unpleasantly bulging butt of his revolver — all 
failed to impress me pleasantly. He had the small 
black eye, with the red spark in it, that I cordially 
dislike; then too I am rarely addressed, in the house 
at least, by a man who keeps his hat on ; and on this 
occasion I threw so much of my disgruntled soul into 
my amazed stare at that offending sombrero, that he 
took it off and held it in a beringed hand, while he 
affably addressed me thus : 

" Well, you gathered in the town ! Of course I 
knew you were a sure winner — could out-pace, out- 
trot anything on the track — er — I mean, I knew you 
were a bang-up actress — but you passed the limit to- 
night. And (holding out his hand) I want to tell 
you, that I'm damn'd glad to see you've got through 
alive — I am so ! " 

I gazed at him in astonishment: " Why, what do 
you mean? " I stammered. 

" Mean just what I say. Of course I knew you 
were not strong and this here atmosphere has laid out 
quite a few strangers and — well, I hardly thought 
you could pull the show off — thought you'd back 



350 THE LIFE OF A STAR 

down and pay me my loss rather than have some- 
thing risky happen. I saw from the first things were 
going hard with you, and when you fired up and be- 
gan gittin' in your fine work, I remembered the ten- 
derfoot that came up here a week or so ago, and who 
got mad 'cause he thought himself cheated out of 
some shares he claimed, and he didn't really have 
breath enough to swear with; and though we told 
him he'd bust somethin', he wouldn't take the tip, but 
went right on, got red in the face, and suddenly, 
(snapping his fingers), there he was, and we had to 
send his remains down to his friends, just before you- 
all come up. So when I see you gasp and fight and let 
out a reef here and another one there to catch just a 
breath, I thought you was buckin' for busted blood 
vessels sure, and I'm pleased as punch that you've 
come out alive ! " 

In indignant tones, I said : " You believed then I 
ran considerable personal risk in acting up here? " 

He nodded and winked as he ejaculated: "You 
bet!" 

" Yet you never wrote one word to my manager of 
advice, of friendly warning — never suggested even a 
lighter play? " 

He half closed one eye : " Oh, come now, Miss 
Morris," he said, drawing into sight a lot of coin and 
bills, " you know business is business ! " 

The insolent self-satisfaction of the man was so 
irritating, that I answered: " Yes — and I am so fa- 
miliar with its methods that I feel compelled to tell 
you sir, this has not been ' business,' it has been a gam- 



SAND-DUNE TO MOUNTAIN-TOP 351 

ble on your part! Good-night! " and for the life of 
me I could not put out my hand to him. 

Down on the sidewalk some people waited, and 
while my husband struggled with the offended and 
obstinate hack-door, a slender, black-draped woman 
stepped up beside me and laid an ungloved hand upon 
my arm : 

" Forgive me," she almost whispered, " but I must 
thank you — your presence here is like a breath from 
the old home life down by the Atlantic. But go away 
soon — get to a lower level ! Such a scare as you gave 
me to-night! It was great acting, but I just clung to 
the chair and prayed and prayed for God to spare you 
from disaster ! " 

" Thank you," I said gratefully, and became con- 
scious that the slender forefinger bore the badge of 
struggling poverty — all pricked and wounded, rough 
and darkened — and it called attention to the thin 
white hand and the loose, loose wedding ring. 

" Come, dear! " said the summoning voice — but I 
halted long enough to drag off a glove and hold tight 
in mine the hand of the unknown woman, who starved 
on the mountain for the grey old Atlantic, and prayed 
to her God for the welfare of a stranger! 



XXI 
A MEMORY OF DION BOUCICAULT 

I HAD acted in Dion Boucicault's plays ever since 
I had been in the ballet. I had heard of him, 
read of him, but I had never seen him until one 
night when Col. Donn Piatt, who was in the city in 
the interest of his Washington paper, came to my 
dressing-room to offer congratulations and to add 
further : 

" I meant never again to repeat to you a compli- 
ment, knowing how sure a way it is to get into your 
black book as a suspected hypocrite, but just this 
once more I will take the risk. Dion Boucicault is 
in front," — heaven! how my mental eye flew back 
over my work ! — " and when you first came on the 
scene he started so violently as to attract the atten- 
tion of several. ' Good heaven ! ' he exclaimed, and 
held his eyes closed a moment, then looked again 
and again exclaimed: ' Is this a reincarnation? ' 
Suddenly he turned to me. ' You must see it,' he 
said. * When you were an attache of the legation 
at Paris, you must have done the theatres thoroughly, 
and don't you see who is moving, speaking, smiling 
there before you ? Even the irregular teeth, the up- 
ward curl at the lip corner, of — Rose Cheri ? ' I 

352 



DION BOUCICAULT 353 

nearly sprang out of my chair, for he had traced 
and named the likeness that you know has tormented 
me for two years. You are wonderfully like her." 

" Some one is knocking, Marie," and as Marie 
opened the door an imploring voice, with a laugh 
trembling through it, reached us, saying: " Couldn't 
I be coming in now too, Colonel? I want to make 
sure, my boy, whether it's Rose or Clara I'm seeing 
act." And then we were shaking hands and he, 
with a gurgle of malicious laughter, was saying: 
" Look at the girl blushing, Colonel dear! That 
ever I should live to see the like of that ! " 

" It's paint," I said. 

" It's not," said he, " and you're more like Rose 
at short range than long." 

" Oh ! " I groaned, sorrowfully, glancing at the 
reflection in my glass. " Did she, too, have a high 
cheek-bone, dropping an oblique line swiftly to the 
chin? Did her short, straight nose end with the 
roundness of a cherry? Ah, the poor soul! " 

"The poor nothing at all! " indignantly exclaimed 
Mr. Boucicault. " Let me tell you Rose Cheri was 
a Parisian favourite of the highest order, and an 
artist to her finger-tips." 

" I know that, my dear sir, incredible as the state- 
ment may seem to you; but you did not honour me 
by saying my work resembled hers. That indeed 
would have been something to exult over. You said 
I looked astonishingly like her, and I expressed my 
sympathy for her." 

" Well, your sympathy seems to me a thinly sugar- 



354 THE LIFE OF A STAR 

coated ridicule, but of course you are quite innocent 
of satire." 

" I have read and acted the plays of Dion Bouci- 
cault," I meekly answered. 

"Oh, Colonel!" he laughed, "she's given her 
red lips just a touch of the blarney-stone ! " 

" Plain women are all supposed to have sharp 
tongues," I smiled. 

" Yes, but they don't all have sharp wits — which 
reminds me, I'd like to know what you thought of 
Modjeska the other night. I saw you in the box 
at the premiere" 

" I thought her a very remarkable actress. She 
has, I believe, given so much thought, study and 
polish to her work that her action seems impulse, 
her gestures accidental. Only a sister actress ap- 
preciates the cost of such naturalness as hers." 

" You frowned often, though, let me tell you." 

" That was when her English bothered me." 

" Ah ! " he went on, impatiently, throwing him- 
self into the chair he had hitherto leaned upon. " It 
was bad — I was disappointed." 

" Good heaven, man ! Make some allowance for 
a first night! Her English was much improved 
when the passing of stage-fright had released her 
stiffened lips. I'd like to see you pass through such 
an ordeal. You have called me clever — oh, I know, 
because Mr. Daly told me so — but can you imagine 
my playing such a part in a foreign tongue? " 

" Oh, she's a Pole, and, like all her people, in- 
herits the gift of tongues." 



DION BOUCICAULT 355 

" Well, you have not inherited the quality of jus- 
tice," I petulantly answered. 

" You see," he went on, " I had been helping them 
at rehearsals. Yes, Sargent was very anxious to 
know my opinion of his new star. I was cold over 
a foreign experiment, but, by Jove ! if you could have 
seen that woman act at rehearsal! Why, say, you 
think her superior to the ordinary leading woman, 
don't you?" 

" Good heaven, man!" I cried, "did I not tell 
you she is a most remarkable woman and a true 
artist?" 

" Well," he continued, " just the difference and 
superiority that you find between her and the general 
leading lady, is the difference and the superiority I 
find in her day-work over her night-work. Don't 
ask me to explain it — I cannot! Just one single 
instant at night she reached to the effect of the morn- 
ing. At the defiance of the duchess " 

" Oh, I know ! " I broke in. " You mean where 
Adrienne stands left of stage, and with head up, 
eyes gleaming and her contemptuously curled lips 
showing her white teeth — " (he nodded quickly) ; 
" she was a real figure of indomitable courage." 

" Yes," he admitted, " that was superb ; it was a 
great moment and the house thrilled to it — but at 
rehearsal the ' Two Pigeons ' fable — well, it put a 
lump in my dry old throat. I've seen every Adri- 
enne of note that has appeared in the last thirty 
years, and I suppose it's heresy to say it, but I think 
the mighty original, Rachel, gave the fable too tragic 



356 THE LIFE OF A STAR 

a tone, bore down too heavily upon that one note; 

though later on in the play " He lifted his 

hands high and bowed his head in reverence. " And 
the golden-voiced one of Paris to-day reads the fable 
delightfully. But that morning's reading of the 
Polish actress — by Jove! To a perfect method of 
delivery she added dignity and pathos, a most un- 
usual combination that, either on the stage or in 
real life ! For when real feeling arrives, dignity gen- 
erally departs. I said to Sargent : ' You're right, 
my boy; you have found a crown-jewel! If it 
can shine like this by day, what will gas-light do 
for it?' Yet that same speech broke my heart at 
night." 

"Your heart!" I cried. "You haven't got one 
to break! " 

He grinned amiably. " Oh, yes, I have," he said, 
" — an artistic one. And it's tender, too. But are 
you by chance acquainted with this good lady you 
are putting up your hands for so readily?" 

"No, I do not know her" (that pleasure came 
later on), " and the public will put up its hands for 
her quickly enough, for, mark you, Mr. Boucicault, 
she is going to be that card to bank on — a woman's 
favourite ! " 

" From the lips of babes and sucklings " he 

jeered. 

" Oh, I don't know ! " I responded. " I guess I've 
been weaned — at least from prejudice." 

" Boucicault, you had better let her alone," 
laughed Colonel Piatt. 



DION BOUCICAULT 357 

" As you seem to speak from a painful experience, 
I'll be warned in time. But I'm not through yet 
with that play and player. The piece is as artificial 
as a bunch of tissue-paper roses." 

" But," I interjected, " it gives splendid oppor- 
tunities to an actress." 

" Egad, it had to give chances for acting if any 
one hoped to get Rachel into the play." 

Rather hesitatingly, I remarked, " It always 
seemed to me, the death scene was too long — for 
nature, at least." 

" Ah ! " he cried, excitedly, " you're a joy to a 
man's heart! For nature, is it? Yes, and for art, 
too. Never rack your audience. Touch 'em — thrill 
'em — chill 'em — but never s-t-r-a-i-n 'em ! " He 
dragged the word " strain " out with real effect. 
" The death scene, if indifferently played, is too long. 
If perfectly played, it is too damnably long for 
human endurance! And it was right there you 
frowned the hardest, too, my Rose ! Now, was that 
all for the play, or part for the acting? " 

" Colonel Piatt," I said, " this man hungers and 
thirsts for a disparaging word about a truly noble 
performance." 

" But not absolutely perfect, eh? " broke in Bouci- 
cault. " Come now, no performance can be that, 
because humanity cannot attain perfection. Why, 
I'm an extra-good actor myself, yet you can find some 
slight blemishes in my work. Even a great poet 
may " 

" My dear man, you are too modest. You do 



358 THE LIFE OF A STAR 

yourself a cruel wrong. Who could criticise the art 
of a Boucicault? " I mockingly demanded. 

"At all events," declared Colonel Piatt, "one 
never nods when Boucicault acts." 

" A-ah, Colonel, I'll come to your wake for that ! " 
said the grateful one. 

" Don't," pleaded the other. " If you have a 
grudge against me, take your revenge now. A man 
does not need to be an actor to want to hold the cen- 
tre of the stage at his last appearance on earth — so 
just send regrets and don't wake me." 

Boucicault looked hurt. " Well, as you like," he 
sighed. Then to me : " I'm always at my best when 
waking a man that's shared good tobacco and liquor 
with me. And now you'll be comforting me with the 
explanation of that frown ! " 

" Oh, good mercy! " I cried, " how you do badger 
one ! The only fault I saw in the newcomer's playing 
of Adrienne — which in all probability was wholly 
due to first-night anxiety — was this : That that long 
agony, those physical tortures resulting from an irri- 
tant poison, those dreadful recoveries from collapse 
and spasm, that wore her out bodily — they still left 
her splendid voice clear and fairly full and expressive 
of love to the last. Now, the voice dies as surely 
as the rest of the body. And this brilliant stranger 
within our gates probably knows that quite as well 
as we do. I have seen very few Adriennes, com- 
pared with your amazing list, but one of them, a 
German " — he twisted up his face and gave a pro- 



DION BOUCICAULT 359 

testing little groan — " oh, wait a moment, please; 
this actress happened to bear the name of Seebach." 

11 1 beg your pardon," he interrupted, contritely. 

11 Beg hers ! " I said, sharply. 

" I do — I beg Mane's pardon, for she was a bril- 
liant actress." 

" Well," I went on, " in that act she was the most 
pitiful scrap of humanity, and somehow she gave you 
the impression that her greatest agony was mental. 
The parting from her love seemed more awful than 
parting from dear life. And her voice roughened, 
became husky, and at the last was a mere thread — it 
waned as her strength waned. And when it was all 
ended, what on earth she did to herself I can't im- 
agine, but as she lay huddled in the depth of that big 
chair, her poor shrunken little body looked no larger 
than a child's of twelve years." Dreading a satirical 
laugh, I went on. " Of course, I knew she could not 
have contracted and shrivelled away like that, but if 
a true magician makes us see what does not exist, why 
may not an intensely sensitive and sincere actor do 
the same? " 

u Oh!" answered Boucicault, lightly, "people 
often read beauties into an actor's work that he never 
thought of himself." 

" Well, even so, must there not be first some po- 
tent, magnetic power in the actor to arouse the dor- 
mant imagination of the spectator to these concep- 
tions?" 

" By all the saints in the calendar! " he exclaimed, 



3 6o THE LIFE OF A STAR 

excitedly, " you woolly little Westerner, I believe 
you've answered one of my oldest puzzles! Piatt, 
IVe seen men — clever men, mind you — sit through 
the same performance of the only Rachel and come 
forth with astonishingly different conceptions of the 
character she had so splendidly portrayed before 
them. One would see in it the very quintessence of 
polished evil, the other find it an uplifting personifi- 
cation of noble tragedy. One woman would weep 
over her as a suffering victim, while another would 
shrink from her as she would from a jewelled flask 
of deadly poison. And I used to puzzle over it all — 
and here this creature, that never saw the frail 
giantess, gives me the cue. She awakened their 
imagination and each one saw her work through the 
medium of his own individuality — What the devil do 
you want, boy? A-ah, don't mind him, Rose! " (as 
I started violently at the sight of the call-boy at my 
door) — " Go on! " said my visitor, commandingly, 
"tell them to play another overture! " 

" Do nothing of the kind," I countermanded. 
" I'm ready — call the act — and go on." 

Mr. Boucicault turned to his companion, saying: 
"And she with such a hospitable look on her face! 
Would you have thought it of her — turning a pair of 
well-meaning old chaps out of doors?" 

" If you were the manager " I began. 

" Well, I'm not," he laughed. 

" Where's your golden rule? " I sternly inquired. 

" The divil a bit of me knows ! I could never live 
by rule, golden or otherwise ! " 



DION BOUCICAULT 361 

" Boucicault," cried Colonel Piatt, " you haven't 
told so many truths in a month of Sundays ! " 

"Why not follow my example, Colonel? You 
used to be fond of a rare experiment in the old days." 

" Everybody ready ! " called the boy outside. 

Pausing at the doorway, which was two steps up 
from the stage-level, my actor visitor looked off 
across the stage. " Ah," he commented, " that's a 
good-looking juvenile woman you have there, but 
she should change her dressmaker. Her body — or 
waist, as you call it in America — is ruined by her 
* darts.' They are too high and too close, and push 
her figure all out of shape. She didn't look so bad 
as that in the first act, when those infernal 4 darts ' 
were shorter. When a woman's dress can be built 
without them, the world will have rolled a good way 
toward the millennium." 

For this wonderful man — who at nineteen had 
written " London Assurance," a play that simply will 
not die, even when battered by the blows of ama- 
teurs — this same actor-author, knew every trick, de- 
vice or secret of stage beauty. Too many women 
had he discovered, trained and presented to the pub- 
lic not to appreciate the value of a perfect line or 
curve ; not to shrink from the tragedy of a too high, 
uppushing dart, or an exaggerated and unnatural 
coiffure. 

I did not go on till the middle of the scene, so my 
visitors took leisurely leave. Mr. Boucicault had 
paid me a very gracious compliment, which I told 
him I valued greatly as coming from the author of 



362 THE LIFE OF A STAR 

" London Assurance " — at which he gave a shrug of 
his shoulders and a contemptuous sniff, that made 
Colonel Piatt say quickly: "My dear Boucicault, 
you're not going to have the affectation to depreciate 
the fine old play whose fame will outlast all your 
money-winners? " 

" Why, how can you expect me to have a tender 
feeling for the play the critics use as a sort of gad 
to whale me with, every time I make a failure?" 
asked the actor-author, with assumed indignation. 

"Failure?" asked Piatt. "I did not know you 
ever made a failure." 

I could feel my smile approaching the dimensions 
of a grin, and quickly Mr. Boucicault exclaimed, 
" Well, you know of one, Rose — judging from your 
Cheshire-cat expression, I think you do." 

And I modestly confessed, " I have played Jeze- 
bel — in your play by that name, sir." 

" Oh, God be good to us ! " — and he took his head 
between his hands and groaned — " but that was the 
grand failure ! But I can never do much when I try 
to write to order. That was for Charles Mathews 
and his wife. Well, laugh if you like, and I don't 
mind laughing with you, for there's not a part in the 
play either one of 'em could act. Well, whenever I 
do a light bit of work the critics cry aloud and haul 
up * London Assurance ' — the brilliant promise of 
my youth — and point out its superiority over the 
feeble and meretricious productions of my maturity. 
It's always by the i Assurance ' they prove to the pub- 
lic the disappointment I am! " 



DION BOUCICAULT 363 

" Well," I broke in, " sneer at the critics — not at 
* London Assurance/ which must have been a vitally 
true picture of life, because when presented to- 
day, after all the years past, it is neither out of draw- 
ing nor too highly coloured — its vitality seems to be 
the vitality of truth. Now look at * The Lady of 
Lyons/ three years older — put that play on in mod- 
ern dress and it would instantly become a superb bur- 
lesque. Everything in it seems so unnatural, so arti- 
ficial!" 

"Humph! " ejaculated Mr. Boucicault " It was 
an unnatural and artificial picture of life when Bul- 
wer made it." 

I fairly clapped my hands for satisfaction. " Ah, 
you can afford to be proud of the ever-youthful, be- 
cause ever-truthful, * London Assurance.' " 

" Piatt, is my head turned around entirely?" he 
asked. But he squeezed my fingers hard and tapped 
the back of my hand .kindly all the time. " It's an 
honest little porcupine," he smiled, " that sets up its 
quills alike in defence of the just and the unjust! I 
must go — must I ? Well, I always accept a dismissal 
without argument — though it would have been no 
killing matter to give me that second overture. Piatt, 
if* you hold her hand any longer it will cost her a 
dollar stage-wait! Good-by, Rose Cheri! " And Mr. 
Boucicault and his friend turned toward the front 
of the house. 

THE END 



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